Brilliancy: The 152nd Hunger Games
by iridescenteverdeen
Summary: Bloody. Brutal. Brilliant. Welcome to the 152nd Hunger Games. [closed syot, but read along anyway! t for language and violence]
1. the execution

_prologue}_

 _the execution_

 _the president's mansion, the Capitol_

His head lolls forwards; his bruised jaw and chin seeking a place to rest and finding it upon his chest, where a dark sweat stain has blossomed. He doesn't notice, though - the stench of sweat is masked by the overpowering and unmistakable pungent copper of blood. He is _covered_ in blood. It's slowly drying around his newly broken and tender nose, caking his nostrils in flakes of crimson and filling them with the strong, metallic scent. It drips down to his upper lip, staining the blonde stubble a startling dark purple, but his mouth is bloody from it's own injuries too: the right half is swollen and blue, and he has a huge cut from his left cheek through to the right side of his chin, slicing through his lip on route. He has smatterings of blood below and to the side of his left eyebrow, from a cut dangerously close to the delicate skin of his eyelid, and he can't see out of his swollen right eye, although that one he doesn't want too think about too much. The ropes on his wrist used to give him unbearable pain; they cut deep and unforgivingly into his skin, but now the blood has slicked the surface and helped ease the agony, if only a little.

Someone has opened the door, and that jolts him out of his hazy, pain-induced dream-like state and into reality again. As his head lifts and his vision sharpens he realises he's in a study, and that sends panic flowing through his body because the last time he was fully awake and conscious, he had been in a small, prison-like room with no windows, and they had hurt him, trying to get information that he would not give. So that meant he hadn't been awake when they had moved him - how long had he been out? Long enough for her to do ... to do what? That's what should scare him the most, and he knows that, but it doesn't. He's sometimes scared of _her,_ but not of what she'll do to him. He's not afraid of death.

He is suddenly aware that he's been in this study before, Daily. For the past seven years, for hours at a time. He has sat in the leather armchair by the huge window, gazing out at the city below whilst she talks to him about a dinner dance or a speech she has to do, he has sat on the huge, wooden desk chair behind the huge, wooden desk - filing reports and replying to letters. And he has sat in the very chair he's in now, not as a prisoner - no, as a vice-president and a secret lover and a _friend;_ he has sat in this very chair and held her hand over the desk, using his other to tick boxes and write in numbers.

He did love her, truly. He thinks he still does.

But.

 _But._

And that was the thing, there was a "but". And the "but" had had such a strong pull that it turned him away from his duties and his job that he worked so incredibly hard for, and it turned him into a rebel and a criminal and now, a prisoner. She is a good president, a great one - she is passionate and determined and fiercely loyal to her Capitol citizens. But. _But._ Every year she sends twenty-three children to their deaths, and every year she watches her dreadful gameshow with glee on her face, and every night that it is televised she goes to parties and drinks and doesn't bat an eyelid when a child is stabbed or beheaded or poisoned by another child. She doesn't care when her precious Victors return to the Capitol each year to mentor with tired eyes and trembling hands.

And as vice-president it was so easy, god it was _so easy,_ to contact the Districts with the most spark and burning hatred, and urge them into action. It was even easier to get caught, it seemed.

She walks into her study - her safe-haven, she had told him once - her high heels tapping on the marble floor, and comes to stand in front of him, the only thing between them being the desk. She's wearing a red dress - the one with the sweetheart neckline and the thigh slit, that trails on the floor behind her. His heart sinks. _That_ dress. She's ready for the annual Games meeting already then, where they'll throw around ideas and wonder about the tributes and laugh and drink and recruit new Gamemakers. "Oh Marcus." she says softly, more of a whisper. Her dark eyes are full of love and sympathy and sorrow and the reason why Marcus fell in love. His heart breaks when they harden and her icy exterior is put up again. "What _were_ you thinking?" she says, her voice venomous. Marcus decides that's a good metaphor for her: a snake. _I'm still in love with her. If she's a snake then I'm a mouse, trapped in her cage and only kept alive because she hasn't been hungry yet._ Her fingers drum on the desk in front of her, searching his face for any expression. He spits out saliva and blood onto the desktop, but she only cocks her head, still watching him.

"Do you remember, Marcus, what you were taught as a child? About the Everdeen girl, and her pitiful boyfriend?"

He tries not to shift in discomfort under her hard stare, keeping his face as unemotional and unreadable as he possibly can. "No? Hmm, that's a shame. I thought you were educated." her voice is a purr, and she saunters around the desk to sit on it, close to him but _not -_ this is Christobel, but not the one he loves and knows. No, this isn't _his_ Christobel, this is the President. "She was publicly executed. By _my_ direct relatives." She leans forward and traces a finger over his fragile wounds, up his cheek, over his eyebrow. "Us Snows - we have a thing for executing rebels, you see." her finger trails down to hover over his lips, and he kisses it.

She stares at him, all seductiveness and fiery power gone, and now she just looks like a sad and tired woman, decades away from when they first met, although in reality it's only been years.

"You don't have to kill me." he whispers softly, and her face crumples.

"You don't have to be a rebel." it's a last offer, and he knows it. Accept and live, or deny and die. The choice is simple really; for him there is only one answer that he would even consider choosing.

"Yes. I do."

/

 _"And we are live from the Capitol Square, where the man on his knees is no other than vice-president Marcus Quintus himself, after damning evidence was found in his office clearly stating him to be an under-cover rebel. Sources say the President was swift to take action, and ordered the execution the next day, feeling no pity for her second-in-command. The execution..."_

Christobel Artoria Snow sits in her huge wooden desk chair behind her huge wooden desk. Without him in it, the room suddenly feels too vast, too empty. She realises without any real emotion that this place isn't her safe-haven anymore.

When the cameras show the guns being pulled out by the firing squad, she graces Marcus by shutting her eyes and not watching as he is shot in the head.

She thinks of their first kiss, his smile, his intelligence. She thinks of how he made her feel like a schoolgirl again, dizzy and breathless and _alive._ She thinks of his loud laughter, how his eyebrows furrow when he's worried, the faint smell of lavender that would cling to her bedsheets after he spent the night. She thinks of the way he would clutch her hand when she was worried, and kiss it when she was scared. She thinks of his kind heart and his compassion, which was ultimately his downfall. She takes a deep breath.

And then she stands up and swiftly moves out of her office, keen to start brainstorming arena ideas with her Head Gamemaker. She can't let her feelings cloud her judgement anymore. She very nearly let Marcus go yesterday, and she can't have that. No more sympathy, no more caring, no more love. The 152nd Hunger Games were going to be brutal and bloody and _brilliant._ The children that her lover died trying to protect will be ripped apart, she decides, with a sick grin on her face.

* * *

 **authors note**

hello! i'm elizabeth, but you can call me liz or lizzie:) i am in no way new to this site, but the last time i had an account was 2 years ago, i think. anyway! this is my first fanfiction on this account, and it will be a syot! i've always loved them and looking through the fics in the hunger games section, it looks like there aren't that many going on right now?

anywho, i hope you enjoyed this chapter! it's an introduction to the president and the universe etcetc. hasn't been checked very thoroughly so I apologise if there's any weird plot holes or mistakes:)

i hope you decide to submit, forms and spaces will be below and on my profile!

-lizzie

* * *

full name:

nickname(s): (and if relevant, who calls them it)

age:

gender:

district:

sexuality: (see rules)

personality: (at least a few lines please!)

backstory: (see above)

appearance: (see above)

family: (the more detail here the better really: what's their relationship to your character, do they get along etc)

friends: (see above)

other relationships: (eg: boyfriend, enemy, crush)

strengths:

likes:

weaknesses:

dislikes:

preferred weapon: (an actual weapon is good here but also intelligence, speed, poison etc. people tend to forget those(:)

reaped or volunteered?:

if reaped, reaction:

if volunteered, why?:

reaping outfit:

token: (not everyone has one but it can be a nice touch)

who came to say goodbye?:

training strategy: (eg, day 1 weapons and make allies, day 2 survival etcetc)

what did they do in their private session?:

realistic training score: (i may change this!)

are they open to allies?: (expand pls! eg, yes leader of careers / maybe 1 person her own age etcetc)

interview strategy:

interview outfit:

arena strategy:

are they a bloodbath tribute?: (if i don't get enough bloodbath submissions i can change this)

where do you think they'll come?:

other:

* * *

 _ **edited 31/12/17 to fix grammatical errors(:**_


	2. normal

_prologue ii}_  
 _normal_  
 _victors village, district 12_

Lia wakes up expecting to find the right side of the bed empty and all the warmth long since seeped out from the mattress, so she is startled when she stretches the tiredness from her joints and ends up hitting her husband in the back of the head. Her eyes are bleary and encrusted with sleep dust so she thinks she's wrong, mistaken a pillow for his body, but then he sighs in his sleep and rolls over, and she just lies there for a while, blinking at him in surprise. She fell in love with Aiden when they were both teenagers, and truthfully wasn't expecting to see him again when he was Reaped. They had both been eighteen, and not a week before he was sent away to the Capitol he had promised her the world and presented her with a cheap, second(third, fourth, fifth probably)-hand ring. She had said yes and they had been married in two days time, not knowing what loomed ahead of them.

When Aiden came back, he was different. That was to be expected, everyone said so. And for the most part, he was okay. He spoke openly about his Games, which his doctor from the Capitol said was a very good sign, and he was almost back to normal in a couple of months. They had a huge, beautiful house and enough food and Lia didn't regret the fact that her husband went into the Games.

And then she was awoken at night to his screams, or she woke up and found that he didn't go to sleep in the first place, and she thinks herself selfish and nasty and horrible. But it has been twenty years exactly that he was Reaped, and he sleeps now. Not for long however, and every day she awakes all alone in the big bed.

She decides not to wake him, and slips silently out of the duvet and out of the room. She pads down the stairs and by the front door is greeted by all four of her children. Normally, she has to spend ages badgering and yelling before her sons shower and dress, and Amber is even worse: on her good days it only takes three attempts to wrestle her out of the stupid pink coat that Aiden's old escort gave her (because "ooh isn't she gorgeous? You know pink will be _just_ her shade!". Lia's surprised that the woman only just retired, she supposes they'll meet her replacement today.). But today is different, because today is Reaping day. And although the Reaping isn't for a couple of hours they're all stood by the door, dressed and ready to go.

Nolan, the oldest at fourteen, and Owen, twelve, stand in their smart grey slacks and black button-up shirts, school shoes polished and hair combed. Eight year old Amber, normally loud and fiery, stands timid in her yellow dress and white cardigan. On Nolan's hip the baby of the family, two year old Paige is dozing off. Lia's heart swells with a mixture of pride an sadness. Every Reaping they leave the house early, to play with friends or sit by the fountain in the square. They all understand that their father is to be left alone this time of year, but only Nolan really knows why.

Lia smiles at all of them, and bends down to kiss Owen on the forehead. "It'll be okay, baby. It's your first Reaping, you won't get picked. We'll see you at the Square, in a few hours, yeah?" her children all nod and leave the house, the frost-covered snow crunching underneath their feet as they walk down the path.

Aiden's better, yes. But it's been twenty years and these Games still continue to stain and ruin his life. Lia wanted to forget all about them, it had shaken her to the core to watch her husband kill three people on screen. It had shaken Aiden even more to _kill three people_ , and he had to live his life knowing that he had taken lives. The Games follow him about every day, the house they live in is a constant reminder, even his own daughter is. Although, that had been Aiden's choice. Nolan and Owen were named after Lia's father and uncle, two of the bravest and kindest men they knew, so when they had Amber, Aiden insisted on naming her after the bravest and kindest girl _he_ knew: his ally from Eight that he couldn't save. Lia had her objections but didn't say anything, Amber from Eight had saved Aiden's life in the arena on multiple occasions. Amber fitted their daughter perfectly.

In the twenty years since Aiden's Games, there hasn't been another District 12 Victor. And he blames himself, Lia knows that and it's infuriating. Every year he comes back home disheartened and alone, and every year a part of him breaks away. Yes, he might be "almost back to normal" but he isn't Aiden.

The Games broke his spirit, his strength and his sense of self.

* * *

 **authors note**

hellohello just a filler chapter here, i just wanted to write something lol. but i guess it could be useful if you're submitting a d12 tribute? maybe? probably not.

anywho, there are **17 spaces** left! the reaping chapters probably won't be in district order, but in order of what districts are full. unless of course i receive the d1f, d2m and d3m pretty soon because then i could probably do it in order(:

-lizzie(:


	3. home is where the heart is

_chapter one}_

 _home is where the heart is_

 _[district four reapings]_

* * *

 ** _Kailani Alexandria, 18_**

 _whitesand beach, district four_

 _six am_

Kailani closes her eyes and digs her toes into the hot white sand, letting the sounds of the beach she's come to love wash over her. Overhead, a gull squawks and another answers it, and far to the right she can hear huge, frothy waves climb up and up and up - and then crash back down onto the beach with an almighty roar. Whitesand Beach isn't used for fishing or boat docking, but in the distance she can hear the laughs and chatter of fishermen, uncaring how loud they are beneath the six am sun, further down the coastline. It's early, even for her; so she's disappointed but not surprised when she opens her eyes to find that the beach is deserted.

A few years ago that would have pleased her, and she would be running down to the sea without hesitation, eager to begin her morning surf. But now, she places her board down onto the sand and sits down on top of it, waiting. It wouldn't feel right, after all these years, to begin without him. She sifts sand through her palms as she waits, watching how the grains fall. It's comforting here on the beach - her beach, _their_ beach - just her, the sea and the sun.

"Hey! Lani!"

Her, the sea, the sun and Des.

Kailani had been surfing at Whitesand ever since being home in the icy quiet became too much. She'd spend her mornings surfing alone, and it suited her just fine. She didn't have friends, anyway. Who would she invite to come with her? Kailani is secluded and distant, feared and aggressive. Look at her the wrong way and she won't even have to do _anything_ , but her cold exterior will send people scuttling away. She's used to this power; the way nobody makes eye contact with her, the way nobody wants to be her sparring partner, the way people move out of her path without a second thought. So when a boy, her age, started surfing in the same spot as her, she was surprised. And annoyed, really annoyed. And whenever she tried to tell him to fuck off, he'd always somehow manage to turn it into a conversation that was... _pleasant._

And so over the years, Kai and Des grew closer and closer every day. It was at a slow place, and it took a whole year for them to start surfing together, and not just in the same place. But seven years of spending hours together every morning has formed a bond stronger than blood, or in Kailani's case anyway. Her parents have never been there for her. She can _remember_ the last thing they did for her: enrolled her in the Academy. When she was _eight._ They didn't understand her want of becoming a Victor, her bloodlust, or her vicious training regime. Her father is a fisherman, and will only ever be a fisherman. He has a simple mind and a simple life; he couldn't apprehend the Games or wanting to go in them. Her mother is a whole different story - Malia Alexandria has a whole collection of mental health issues, including anxiety and being bipolar, and when Kai was younger, she took to blaming all of her issues on her. She has always been a terrible mother. Kailani's worried of turning out like either of them. She doesn't want to be a dull fisherwoman living a dull life, and she doesn't want to inherit her mother's mental health problems. She hates them. They don't talk to her anymore, too scared of what she's "become". Fine. But they can't expect her to live a life like theirs.

No, she wants to be a Victor. She wants to _kill._

And so today is Reaping day, the last morning she'll get with Des until she comes back. She wants to enjoy it, the alone time with her best and only friend, so she forces all thoughts of her parents away into a box. "Morning Des." she replies, as he grows nearer. Kailani and Des have been mistaken for siblings once or twice. They do have some similarities: they're both blonde, very muscular and have strong jaws - but that's about it. Kailani is small for their age group whereas Des towers above everyone in it, Kai's hair is platinum blonde whereas Des's is honey blonde, and Kailani has dark, almost black, eyes and Desmond's are a bright, sparkling blue. They cancel each other out, in terms of personality. Kai is snappy and secluded and fiery, and Des is cheerful and flirty and optimistic. It's been seven years and Kailani still hates to admit it, but they make a good duo.

Des offers her a hand and hauls her up off of her board, and she watches as his eyes flicker towards the sea and then back, a glint of mischief in them. "Race you to the sea?" he says it like a question, but he's already sprinting off, and Kailani lets out a growl of frustration before taking off after him. She's never been a fast runner, and it's always infuriated her. Des has long legs and can take huge strides, but her short and sturdy frame denies her that privilege. She briefly wonders if it'll be a huge impact in the Games, and pushes that thought away too. She has lots of strengths in different areas: axes, stealth, her strength and intelligence... She'll be fine. She'll be more than fine, she'll be _brilliant._

 _/_

Afterwards, she has a healthy, rosy glow to her cheeks and a very, very rare smile is plastered on her face. Her hair is dripping wet and has been curled and darkened by the salty sea, and she's out of breath, recovering from a joke that Des told. They're walking up the beach, boards tucked under their arms, and fall into a comfortable silence. Kailani's become very used to this routine: half six in the morning, Whitesand Beach, with Desmond, and she realises with a start that she feels at _home._ She and Des share anything and everything, including their surfing and their beach and their sea and their sun.

They're halfway home when Des spots a group of people their age and waves them over. "What are you-?" Kai hisses. If Des heard her he doesn't do anything, and his friends swagger over.

"Yo Desmond my _man!_ Sick party last night!"  
-"you'll never guess what Anita did-"  
-"and I told her no way did Desmond do that but she said-"  
-"mate it was insane you were so wasted and-"  
-"how are you even up so early my hangover _killed_ man"-

Kailani is left excluded from the circle, as they exchange stories and cheerful insults and playful shoves, and she resents herself when she feels something heavy and bitter settle upon her tongue. It's come to be a familiar feeling in situations like this: possessiveness and jealousy. Des has been her closest and only friend for seven years so she's always startled to see how close he is with other people, but she's also jealous of how easily he can slide into conversations, how he holds everyone's gaze and how he can make everyone laugh. She recognizes a few of them: the guy with the tattoo curling around his bicep used to be her training partner when they were younger, the ginger girl lives down her street, the twin girls with matching sun-bleached blonde hair sat on either side of her last year for maths. All of them had tried to be friendly, all of them had made pleasant conversation and included her and _tried._ But she's so naturally defensive, Kailani, and so she sneered and she scowled and she secluded herself, and they gave up.

She likes the power she has over people, she does. Sometimes, she just wishes she has more friends, a closer group. Sometimes she wishes she doesn't scare people. Sometimes she wishes she wasn't so _angry,_ all of the time - hot emotion settling in her chest and flowing up to her cheeks and down to her palms. Sometimes, only sometimes. She slips away from the group easily enough, to head home and change for the Reaping, and as she leaves all of them burst into laughter at some joke or an anecdote. Her wet hair drips onto the ground, and her bare feet burn on the concrete that's been cooked by the sun.

Des doesn't follow her.

* * *

 _ **Samuel Lafton, 18**_

 _district four_

 _seven am_

Sam is awoken to his mother's delighted laugh and his younger, twin sisters giggling. He groans and pulls his blanket over his head, trying to block out the sun seeping in from the window directly opposite. His blanket is homemade - like a lot of things in the Lafton household - and his Ma never really got the hang of knitting, so there are gaping holes that do little to protect from the sunlight. Still, it's made with love, and that is one thing that Samuel has never gone without. His parents, Elyssa and Michael Lafton, have always been supportive and understanding. Money is always tight in a house with seven people - six, now that Caleb's moved out - but they've always been calm and kind and caring. Sam has four siblings, and his parents acknowledge and understand that they're all different. For example, his older brother Caleb never trained, and his parents supported that. Sam started training when he was young, and his parents have always supported that too.

His father's unmistakable, deep roar of a laugh comes from downstairs, and Sam finally realises that he's overslept. He swings his feet around and lets out a loud yawn, and sits on the side of his bed for a minute. He loves his family, truly, but Samuel has always been an introvert. He likes his peace and quiet, and with three younger siblings it's kind of hard to come by. It's moments like these he treasures, when he's by himself. Still, he knows he's probably being missed, so he glides down the stairs and into the kitchen, where the rest of his family are gathered around the table.

As he guessed, Caleb's swung by to visit, and he's telling a story from the looks of things - talking animatedly, with his hands gesturing wildly. The twins, Mira and Hali, are laughing and Doug is looking at him with an expression of awe normally only saved for Sam himself. He's quiet by nature, so nobody notices him come into the kitchen until he's slid into a seat, causing his ma to jump. "Lord, Sam! You can't keep sneaking up like that!" she swats him with a tea towel but she's smiling, and slides him a plate. It's fish, like a lot of his meals, but it's harder to find a better chef than Elyssa Lafton - and the scrambled eggs and kippers is a delight.

"Are these the fish that came in yesterday afternoon?" he asks and Caleb nods at him.  
"Yup, fresh can be. No fishing this morning, it's Reaping day." he pauses, and then adds, "you excited?"

Sam has juggled school, his job as a fisherman and training every day for years. He's always liked fishing, and it introduced him to his chosen weapon, the trident, but he's always wanted a bit more than that. He's friendly enough - he can be sociable and well-liked, and has a small ring of good friends - but his quiet personality can sometimes make him come off a bit as abrasive to those he's not too close with. He hopes he doesn't make a wrong impression on the other careers.

He smiles. "Yeah, actually, I am." his Pa punches his shoulder lightly.  
"You make sure you come back, yeah boy?" it's said playfully enough but on the other side of the table his sister's smiles droop, and Doug's bottom lip begins to quiver. Sam smiles reassuringly at them. "Of course. I have faith in myself."  
"And we have faith in you." Caleb says, solemnly.

It's quiet for a minute, and then his mother instructs them all to get ready for the Reaping, and to "look presentable!"

/

Sam weaves in and out of the other eighteen year old boys, and ends up next to one of his friends, Dylan. They stand, talking for a bit as the rest of the teenage population of Four files in, until a woman walks out onstage, and a hush settles across the District.

Stella Steren was new two years ago, and her look hasn't changed, but it's always jarring to see Capitol fashions. Her blue hair looks like it was maybe inspired by the sea, but Sam finds that almost personally insulting. The sea in Four is a shade of blue so beautiful that he's adamant nothing could come close to it, especially not some tacky hair dye. Her silver dress and shoes are made mostly of sequins, and catch in the light every time she takes a step. She's chirpy and friendly, and for someone from the Capitol, she seems quite alright.

"Good morning, District Four! Welcome to the Reaping of the 152nd Annual Hunger Games!"

She receives a scattering of applause from the audience - these days not everyone in Four supports the Games, and the numbers in the Academy are dwindling. Each year the classes get smaller and smaller. The mandatory video gets played, like every year, and nobody pays attention, like every year. What everyone is looking forward to is when she drops one perfectly manicured hand into a bowl, and calls the name of the tribute. Kailani - who, frankly, terrifies him - will volunteer and take her place on the stage, and he'll volunteer and take his place. The video draws to an end and Sam can feel his heart beating in his chest. This is it, this is the moment he's been waiting for.

She picks a slip from the female bowl, and walks tantalizingly slowly back to centre stage,

"Nora Trescott!"

Silence.

 _Where's Kailani?_

It's what everyone's thinking and from the look on the petrified fourteen year old girl, it's what she's thinking too. Her legs shake as she slowly climbs the stairs, and once she's up next to Stella, her knees start to knock together. "Are there any volunteers?" Stella calls, and it's silent for a second before a voice, clear and confident, rings out:

"I volunteer!"

Nora breathes a sigh of relief and nearly stumbles over on her run down the stairs, but all the cameras are focused on the girl who volunteered: a smug expression written on her face as she saunters up the stairs, skirt swishing around her knees and her dark make-up making her look fierce and daunting. She introduces herself with a snarl and Stella hurriedly moves onto the boys.

"Samuel Lafton!"

He's about to call out that he volunteers, when he realises that's his own name. Oh. Well. That's okay, too. He makes his way to the stage, and the cameras zoom in to pick up on his height, his muscular body, his green eyes and his determined expression. He shakes his District partners hand and turns back around to the audience, bowing as Stella loudly announces,

"Ladies and gentlemen! Your tributes for the 152nd Hunger Games: Kailani Alexandria and Samuel Lafton!"

/

His family flood into the room first, a flurry of "goodbye" and "we'll miss you" and "i love you", and he's hugged over and over again. Doug makes him firmly promise he'll come back, Caleb and his Pa give him last-minute advice - even though neither of them had ever lifted a weapon in their life - and his Ma reminds him not to be an idiot. His sisters just sit next to him on the large plush sofa, snuffling a little.

"Don't worry about me." he says softly, smiling down at Mira on his right and then Hali on his left, who's sucking her thumb fiercely, her eyebrows furrowed.  
"You need a good luck charm." Mira says, and immediately Doug's face brightens and he reaches behind his neck to unclasp his necklace. Sam can't remember the last time he saw him without it, so he's touched when it's handed to him. It's a thin strip of leather, with a shell as the pendant. "Thank you." he whispers to his brother, before the Peacekeepers come in and his family are whisked away.

Dylan waltzes in next, alongside their other friends Brooke and Morgan. Their visit is short but sweet, conversation limited to how much they'll miss him, and what to do if he gets caught in certain situations, etcetera.

It's over before he realises, and the last glimpse he gets of Four before the arena is through a train window.

* * *

 _ **Kailani Alexandria, 18**_

Her parents walk in first which she honestly wasn't expecting. She wishes they didn't come.

Nobody knows what to say, and they look shocked, fumbling for words that fail them. It's infuriating, because if they even listened to her or acknowledged her, they would know she was going to volunteer. And yet. Kai's glad when they leave, and when Desmond bursts through the door all the awkwardness that was previously in the room vanishes.

"Lani."

He opens his arms and she hesitates, because they're not affectionate like that, not really, but she walks into them. They separate after a couple of seconds but it was comforting and soothing. He grabs her by the shoulders, searching her eyes but she doesn't know what for. "Don't make mistakes." he says, and she just nods. "I mean it, Lani. Come back to me." He leaves her with his rope necklace and she holds it to her chest, against her heartbeat. There's no love confessions, Kailani's liked girls for as long as she could remember but she loves Desmond, in their own weird way.

She's confident in herself, and that's something. If she ever wants to see her home again, she'll have to be.

* * *

 **authors note**

district 4! reallyreally like both of these tributes, and id love to know if you do too!

still a lot of open spaces, see my profile for the full tribute list

-lizzie(:


	4. family life

_chapter two}_

 _family life_

 _[district two reapings]_

* * *

 ** _Victoria Olive Reys, 18_**

 _the reys training academy, district two_

 _day before reaping, eight am_

"Victoria, you'll be with... Nydia. Both of you in the ring, please."

Tori and Thea turn to each other, eyebrows raised and wicked grins plastered on their faces. Next to them, Nydia gasps. "Evelina, do you think maybe-" she begins to plead, but Tori's sister and their class instructor just blows sharply on her whistle. "I _said,_ Tori and Nydia, get in the ring!" Tori lets out a cackle and begins to saunter over to the fighting ring, expertly and gracefully hopping over the ropes, whilst Nydia just stands, begging with Evelina and her legs shaking. Thea, Tori's lifelong best friend, rolls her eyes and shoves Nydia forwards. "Get on with it you coward!"

Nydia takes some shaky steps forward, and hobbles over the ropes, not meeting Tori's gaze. Tori rolls her eyes and turns to the class gathered around below, shaking her head. "Can you believe her? You could have picked someone better, Evelina, I wanted a _real_ challenge." The sound of Thea's high-pitched laughter is the only sound that fills the room, everyone else being either mildly uncomfortable, or silently grinning. Thea and Tori could be cruel, and even more so when it came to their adoring follower. Tori turns on her heel and walks back over to Nydia, getting very close to her - so close, in fact that she can feel her breath and hear her gulp. "You're no good, Nydia. You will be on the floor in a matter of _seconds._ I am, and have always been, better than you. I can't wait to make you bleed." Tori throws her head out and barks out a laugh, so she misses the way Nydia's eyes narrow and how her arm draws back, before punching Tori square in the stomach. She stumbles back, groaning in pain.

"Never underestimate your enemy, Tori! You do it all the time and it _will_ kill you in the arena." Evelina calls from the side, and Tori growls. She runs towards Nydia, who puts her arms up to defend her face and torso, her face contorted with bitter hate. The quiet, obedient girl that was allowed to tag along with Tori and Thea is gone, and is replaced by someone wanting to take out her anger. It makes Tori uncomfortable, but she ignores it. Nydia is insignificant, she's always been weak, and Tori has always been so much better than her. Although, Tori believes she's always been so much better than _everyone._

Once she's close enough, she spins around in the air, sticking her leg out at the last minute to kick Nydia in the jaw. Nydia staggers back, yelling out in pain and cupping her hands around her face. Tori wastes no time, she darts forwards and pummels Nydia in the stomach twice, and when her opponent brings her hands down to fight back, once in the nose too. Tori feels the bones break underneath her first, and stands back, out of breath but pleased with herself.

Hand-to-hand has never been a specific skill of Tori's, per say, but her chosen weapon - knives- are close range as well as long range, so she has to know more than just the basics. Plus, she's always been very quick thinking and agile, and she's had a lot of time lately to pick it up. She's had a lot of time, because when she first joined the Academy, her mothers placed her two classes higher than what she should have been. But then all of her classmates turned nineteen, and left the academy, so she had to go through the entire year again, twice more. It's been dull. Her mothers could place her two classes up because it's their academy. The Reys Training Academy was founded by Arabella, one of Tori's mothers, back when Tori was a baby and Arabella hadn't transitioned yet. All throughout her many years of training, she's been praised unnecessarily, set against weak opponents, and never had to do the End of Year Trials.

None of the instructors would ever even dream of saying it, but Tori is not suitable to go into the Games. Her mother, Olive, favours Tori out of her five children, and spoils her rotten. Anything Tori wants, she gets. It's turned her into a catty and cunning girl, and every new year, when they see her name on their registers, they all groan. Tori doesn't like people, at all. She's hard to pair up with, and she's very bossy. She's always vocalised her want of being leader of the careers, and all the instructors cringe when they think about how she's going to interact with the rest of the pack. And to make matters worse, Olive Reys comes around to the RTA all the time, to check how they're treating her beloved daughter. But once you meet Olive, you know where Tori gets it from. Both are tanned, with gorgeous hazel eyes and brown hair, and both are intelligent, manipulative, uncaring and liars. It's no secret that Tori and Olive Reys detest Arabella's transition from male to female, and both still publicly call her father/husband. The amount of affairs both parents have are ridiculous.

Tori's too spoilt, too used to having everything she wants at her disposal. Even now, she climbs out of the ring, disgust written on her face at the blood on her hands. Tori has always had a thing for cleanliness, and hates dirt. It makes her classmates wonder why she even wants to Volunteer, if she's just going to have to go in a probably dirty arena, without being able to shower.

However, even with Tori not being their first pick, the instructors know at least they have a decent shot at winning with her. She might not be suitable for the harsh conditions of an arena, but that doesn't mean she's a bad fighter. Tori is one of the fastest runners they have, she's deadly with knives, and she's a ruthless killer.

And paired with this years male tribute, Dax Lewis, everyone at the RTA is fairly convinced someone from Two will be coming home.

* * *

 ** _Nero Victorem Lewis, 16_**

 _district two_

 _day of reaping, six am_

"Wait, Dax, wait- Dax! Stop!"

But Dax just laughs and continues to press forward, backing Nero into the corner of their basement, who yelps when his back hits the wall, still trying desperately to block his brother's attacks with his knife. "What's the matter, Nero? Are you not good enough? Come on, fight back! You baby!" Nero growls and lunges forward, clashing his knife against Dax's. His brother blinks in surprise, and then furrows his eyebrows, using all his strength to push Nero back again, where he knows he'll have the upper hand. But Nero, spurred on by Dax having no faith in him, continues to move forward.

Nero strikes down, hard - intending only to disarm Dax, but as his brother's knife falls to the ground with a loud clatter, so does a stream of blood. It's only a small cut, but Nero knows Dax well enough that whenever he shows even the slightest indication of maybe being better than him at something, he gets defensive and angry. Dax is hot-headed and has a famous short temper, he's also incredibly power hungry and likes having the satisfaction of knowing that he's better than his younger brother.

"Ah, shit, Dax I'm really sorry let me just-"

Nero sees the hand coming way before it connects with his cheek, so he just shuts his eyes and doesn't flinch. It stings, but he's had worse before. And typical Dax, tries to make it into a joke. He ruffles Nero's hair, even though they're the same height, and lets out a shaky laugh. "Don't do that again Nero, yeah? You hear me?" he says it in a light manner but there's an icy undertone, and Nero nods vigorously.

"I'll see you at the Reaping, I'm just uh- I'm going to Alana's."

He's surprised at how well the lie slips out of his mouth, but it's one he's used many times so Dax just nods and sets about tidying up. Nero never had any interest in going into the Games, and therefore never joined the RTA. That was always Dax's thing, not his. But at home his brother would show him what he had learnt, mainly to show off but after a while it became a routine. He's good with knives, seriously good with knives, and he's become rather muscular and athletic. He could handle himself in a fight, but he still had no intentions to Volunteer or anything.

Besides, Dax was doing that this year.

Nero thinks it'll be weird, with Dax gone. His father is a Peacekeeper, deployed in one of the outer districts. He's been gone for most of Nero's childhood, and he can't really remember much of him. And his mother is never home, she's always...with the neighbour. (The neighbour who is actually, probably his real father. They've got the same orange hair, the same green eyes, the same freckles. Dax _resents_ this theory and he always yells about it at Nero whenever he's somehow managed to annoy him. Dax resents their mother, full stop. He think's she's slutty and dishonourable.) So once Dax leaves, the house will be pretty much empty. But that means he could have Strath over...

Nero met Strath through Dax. He came over one morning to help Dax out with his training, and the two had connected instantly. It had been a slow developing relationship, but Nero understood why; you have to be careful when both of you are men and there's a twelve year age gap. Strath is the head training instructor at the RTA - he's easy going but responsible, calm and sweet. He balances out Nero's personality perfectly: Nero has a tendency to be cautious and withdrawn around people he knows, and Strath brings him out of his shell. He's a lot more outgoing around strangers because hey, he's never going to see them again - and Strath manages to keep him on a sensible path.

He slips up the stairs and into his room, and changes in front of the dirty mirror, intending on going straight to the Reaping after seeing Strath, He dresses in a grey button-up with black jeans, and slips on his boots as he leaves the house with one last "bye!" to Dax.

Outside the November wind whistles in his ears and nips at his nose, but at last he makes it to Strath's house, who's stumbling out of the door, cursing at the cold. "Hey?" Nero laughs, walking up the path to greet his lover, who in return turns and smiles at him. "Hi, wasn't expecting to see you this morning." he raises an eyebrow, and Nero just shrugs in response. "Dax." is all he says, but Strath's face smooths into one of understanding and compassion, and he nods.

The two fall into a steady pace as they walk to the Square, comfortable silence setting upon them like a blanket. Just before they reach their destination, however, Strath loos around and then tugs on Nero's arm, pulling him into a nearby alleyway. "What are you-?" he begins to ask, but is cut off by Strath pushing him against the damp wall and fiercly kissing him. "Woah, hey, hello." he whispers once he pulls away, and Strath laughs quietly. "You ok?" his lover nods, and rests his forehead against Nero's shoulder.

"Just haven't seen you in a while." he murmurs against the fabric of Nero's shirt.  
"Yeah, well, you know how Dax can be."  
"Do you think he's getting suspicious?"

Nero catches a blur of movement from the corner of his eye and spins his head around. Pure, cold dread crawls out from his heart and into the rest of his body. "Dax-" is all he can choke out, and Strath turns his head to follow Nero's gaze, horror washing over his face once he sees they have an audience.

"Holy shit holy shit, Dax look I can explain it's my fault - Dax, no wait come back!"

But it's too late.

Dax spins on his heel and leaves without saying another word.

/

Nero stands amongst the other sixteen year old boys, feeling only slightly better. "It had to come out at some point." Strath had reassured him, but Nero couldn't get the image of his brother's face out of his head. It was full of horror and disgust and _anger,_ it was twisted and ugly and nothing like Nero had seen before. He's so deep into thoughts, his mind so clouded with fear and uncertainity that he doesn't realise the Reaping has even started until Tori Reys calls out "I volunteer!"

She walks up to the stage in long strides, and she looks _gorgeous -_ her sun-yellow dress brushes her knees and the sleeves of her blue denim jacket are folded up around her wrist casually.

After she introduces herself, she takes her place on stage next to the escort. He takes a green hand and picks a white slip of paper, and reads out a name.

Reads out Nero Lewis.

It's a similar feeling to when they were younger, on Nero's seventh birthday. It had been snowing, and the two brothers had been in the garden, throwing snowballs at each other. Nero hadn't hit Dax once, but the one time he did - he got him in the back of his head. Dax had been furious, and thrown one at Nero with all his strength. It had hit him square in the nose, and numbness spread across Nero's face. He couldn't feel a thing.

He feels dizzy, like he doesn't know where or who he is, and his only anchor is _DAXWILLVOLUNTEERDAXWILLVOLUNTEERITSHISYEARITSHISYEAR._ So he strains his ears, trying to steady his breathing and listen out for his brother's voice.

But it doesn't come.

And the whole time he's walking up to the stage, the same voice rolls around and around in his mind.

 _daxwillvolunteerhehastohehastoohgodohgodohmygodohmygodohm_

/

His first visitor is his mother, who takes shaky steps into the room. Her eyes dart around everywhere but Nero, as though she doesn't have permission to look at him. "Mum..." he whispers, and she breaks down, flinging into her son's arms. "I love you, Nero. I love you. God I'm so sorry I'm so sorry for _everything-_ "  
"Mum! I love you too, it's alright. It's alright, I know. I know, shh." She leaves choking down sobs and leaving Nero feeling hollow inside.

He doesn't recognise his next visitor at first. He has dark hair, blue eyes, and - "holy shit." His father gives a sad chuckle and sinks into the seat next to Nero.  
"Hey buddy, how you doing?" Nero doesn't know how to _speak,_ he hasn't seen this man since he was a toddler, he couldn't tell you anything about him. A huge, father-shaped chunk of his childhood had been missing, and it's only been filled now that he's being sent off to the arena. "Why are you here?" he asks, and his father shakes his head. "I was reassigned to Two, yesterday. Last night. I was going to come home, but none of you were home." Nero thinks back to last night. He was with Alana, Dax was training, and his mother-

"She's having an affair!" he blurts out.

His father leaves a few moments later, a face like thunder. Nero groans, and drops his head in his hands.

"Nero?"

He looks up again to find his lifetime best friend stood in front of him, her hazel eyes normally filled with mischief threatening to spill tears. "Oh Alana." he stands up and embraces her, and lets her cry into his arms. He and Alana are closer than anyone in his life. They know everything about each other, and their bond is iron strong. "I want you to have this." she pulls away from his arms and reaches behind her, unclasping the necklace that she's worn every day since her sister died in the Games. "Alana, I can't that's-"

"I know." she cuts him off. "I want you to have it." she presses it into his palms and opens her mouth to say something, before shutting it again.  
"What is it?" he prompts her.

"I love you. Nero I love you."  
"Alana, I love you too, you're like my sister-"  
"No. Not like that. I love you." there's a terrible, terrible silence before tears spill down her cheeks.

"And, and I know you don't feel the same I know you have your secrets but I love you, I do." she's by the door now, but looks back one last time. "I couldn't leave without telling you."

When Strath comes in, Nero finally cries.

* * *

 _ **Victoria Olive Reys, 18**_

Olive bursts through the door, urgent but still dripping with glamour. She stride forwards and gathers her daughter in a brief hug, before stepping back and examining her. "You'll do me proud, sweetheart, I know it." she whispers, stepping forwards and placing a delicate kiss on Tori's forehead. Arabella hangs back awkwardly, behind the rest of Tori's siblings, not quite meeting her daughter's eye.

Evelina and Tori never really got along, what with Evelina being in her thirties there was a large gap and never really anything to talk about. But now she wishes her sister well, and tells her that she'll be great in the arena. Agustin wasn't there, Tori's older brother was currently in jail for trying to sneak onto a train to the Capitol. Tori's just glad idiocy doesn't run in the family. Then there's her other sister, Accalia, who hugs Tori and claps her on the back, and then Leo. Leo's only fourteen, but he and Tori have never gotten along. He replaced her as the baby of the family, and for that she'll forever hold a grudge.

And when they've all stepped abck, all of their goodbyes said and compliments praised, Arabella takes a shaky step forward. "Bye Dad." Tori snaps before she can say anything. She holds olive's gaze, who smirks at her, and then her family leave.

Thea gossips with her for a while when she comes in, and then embraces her best friend hastily. "You'll look well sick on the screen, Tori." she grins, and then Tori's left alone with a plan devising in her head.

* * *

 **authors note**

district 2! hoped you liked them, tell me what you think!

-lizzie(:


	5. it's complicated

_chapter three}_

 _it's complicated_

 _[district seven reapings]_

* * *

 ** _Monroe Paterson, 16_**

 _district seven_

 _day before reaping,_ _eight am_

"Hey, Monroe! Wait, wait up!"

 _Shit._

Monroe picks up the pace, keeping her eyes forward and ignoring the boy behind her. Next to her, Simmons snorts with laughter. "Think he might be tryina' talk to you, Roey." she teases, craning her neck around to get a better look. Monroe rolls her eyes and tugs her sister's sleeve, pulling her along. "He's _really_ starting to power walk." Simmons points out, before facing her younger sister. "What's this ones name?"

"Uh, Adam, I think." Monroe says offhandedly, but that only causes Simmons to laugh again.  
"You think? Classy, _real_ classy." but it's said with a clap on the back and a grin, so Monroe grins back. She's always been closest with Simmons out of her four sisters, despite the six year age gap they've been rather inseparable ever since Monroe grew up a bit. The desperate calls from the boy - Adam "maybe, don't hold me to that" - fade away as the two girls get closer and closer to the forest. Monroe comes from a family of lumberjacks, and the job is a tradition that goes back generations. She hates the work - hates work in general - but who is she to break tradition? They follow the dirt path into the thick forest, and come upon the large wooden hut. Simmons pushes open the door and the two step inside, immediately enveloped in warmth coming from the small fireplace - the November cold melting from their fingertips in seconds.

Simmons shuffles forward to the desk to sign in, and Monroe picks up two axes from the rack - one with 'M. PATERSON' engraved on the belly of the handle and the other with 'S. PATERSON', although it's starting to fade. Monroe and her four sisters before her all started work as a lumberjack when they were twelve, and as such she has four years worth of experience swinging one around. "Rena and Jaxson have already signed in, according to the register." Simmons says as she comes over, plucking her axe from Monroe's hand.

"I'll join you in a sec, I need to wipe this down." Monroe holds up her axe and Simmons just rolls her eyes.  
"See you in a sec, Roey." She leaves the hut and Monroe waits twenty seconds before following her, but instead of walking forwards, she takes a sharp right and comes face-to-face with Lillian. "Thought you'd never show up, you dick." the other girl says, pushing herself up from the wall, and before Monroe can make some lame excuse, pulls her down into a fiery kiss.

Monroe has never been one for rules and regulations; Rena tells her she's too reckless, Simmons tells her she's just a free spirit, and her parents tell her she's grounded - not that she listens to them. Still, Rena's just protective, it's not like Monroe's disobeying Peacekeepers or anything. No, when her life is on the line she's a _perfect_ citizen, thanks. Literally any other time though? She's just here for some fun. And that's where maybe-Adam and Lillian and all the others come in. It's all just for _fun._ And maybe someone like Rena or her mother will tell you she has commitment issues, and maybe they're right. But Monroe likes to live in the moment, she wants to be able to be free and live her life, not to be tied down to someone.

At least, that's what she says at the end of every inevitable break-up. And it's true, all of it, but maybe there's another reason. Monroe's had strings of lovers and admirers, sure, but she doesn't really have any close friends. The person she's closest to at the moment is Simmons - her older sister by six years. She doesn't like people getting too close. Monroe quite often doesn't have any idea of what she's doing, she just goes along with whatever's happening, and by keeping people at an arm's length she can appear stronger, smarter, less vulnerable. Her reckless streak has gotten her into trouble numerous times, and it appears it has again when Monroe's boss, the strong and sturdy Asa comes marching around the corner, beefy hands on her broad hips.

"Paterson!"

/

 _day of reaping, ten am_

"Roey, there's a shirt for you on your bed." Monroe looks over to her mother, who's stood in the doorway with a soft smile on her face. Everything about her mother seems like someone drew her in pencil and then tried to rub her out. She's faded and quiet, but still her mother. Monroe is and has always been a daddy's girl, and she takes after him wholeheartedly with her outgoing and fun-loving nature, but she'll always love her mother. She goes to reply, give her thanks, when her father gets up from his seat on the tatted couch.

"And a clean one, that'll make a nice change, hmm?" he ruffles Monroe's hair and squeezes Jaxson's shoulder as he walks past to the sink. Roey rolls her eyes but grins, and slides out from the wooden chair, nudging her plate across the table towards the pile of dirty ones, the only evidence of her three older sister's being here this morning. Sienna swung by earlier this morning, much to the delight of Rena and Simmons. Sienna is twenty-seven now, and moved out years ago. They've never really bonded - there was no dislike, but the eleven year age gap always meant they were at different places in their lives. Rena, twenty-four, and Simmons, twenty-two, were always much closer to her, and now the older three were out together. That left Jaxson and Monroe, and that suited Monroe fine. They've always been close, not as close as Monroe and Simmons, but close. They're competitive too, but in a healthy way: they bring out the best of each other.

For example, when they were younger and used to play fight and wrestle, it made the two realise just how physically strong Monroe is. She's tall and athletic, and using an axe every day for four years ahs undoubtedly beefed her up, but she's also naturally muscular. Racing in the back garden proved Jaxson's speed, and clambering up trees showed how Monroe could use her strength to easily pull herself up to high-up places.

"Go on you, get dressed." her father swats a dishtowel at her and she ducks, laughing, and runs up stairs.

/

Monroe weaves in and out of the teenagers of Seven, making her way to her section. Seven is a large district, and that offers comfort to Monroe. There are plenty of other names in that bowl - she just has to get through two more Reapings. Two. She could do that.

A few minutes later Monroe isn't sure she's even going to get through this one, the mayor's speech is such a drag and everyone around her is bored out of their minds. The atmosphere is dull and heavy to begin with, but when the luminous orange escort steps forward to a glass bowl, it twists into something uncomfortable and anxious. Next to her, two identical twins grasp at each other's hands. Monroe thinks she's glad all of her sisters are older; at least she only has herself to worry about.

"And our female tribute of the 152nd Hunger Games is... Monroe Paterson!"

A shard of horror and fear and disbelief all mix together to pierce her heart with icy nothingness. In the distance, Simmons - brave, bossy, bold Simmons - begins to scream, and Rena's desperate wail joins her in a choir of despair. Monroe doesn't remember walking towards the stage, but she notices how violently she's shaking and forces herself to stop, to think, to be calm.

It's a lot harder than she wants it to be when her name is being cried out repeatedly and desperately, begging her to stop, no, come back, this can't be right. Monroe swallows the lump in her throat and, like all her life, faces the consequences head-on. Only this time, she didn't do anything wrong.

* * *

 _ **Adlai Adkins, 15**_

 _district seven_

 _eight am_

Adlai knows something's wrong the second his father appears in the doorway, his eyes dark and accusing and his fists clenched at his sides. He holds eye contact with his son for a few seconds before stepping inside Adlai's room, slamming the door shut behind him. Adlai winces. "Why," his father starts, loud and angry, "is there a girl at our door?" Adlai's heart sinks. He told his friend's he'd meet them further down the road, they were never meant to come to his _house._

"That's just Jenny, dad." he says quickly. He knows what the issue his father has with his friends, in that he has some. His father is a very proud man, and loves his work as a lumberjack. He wants his son to be the same, but Adlai's always been quite sensitive, and a dreamer. He hates the pre-determined path set out for him, hates the way he has to work after school every day, hates how his father is always expecting him to be better, stronger, manlier. But then, Adlai has always also been hard-working and determined, and even though his father treats him like _shit,_ he still wants to prove his worth to him.

"So you're too busy to go to work, but you can still hang out with those... _friends_ of yours?" he spits out the word "friends" like it's some sort of poison, and stares at Adlai, awaiting an explanation. "The Reaping's today, we were just going to... I don't know." he does know. Fox is seventeen, Link is sixteen, Jenny is fifteen and Adlai turns sixteen in a few days. All of them have taken tessera, all of them have their name in that bowl numerous times. And as they all get older, the possibility of one of them going into the Games...

Adlai loves his close circle of friends, all of them unique and interesting and understanding. Jenny is rude and loud and spontaneous, and - Adlai knows this from personal experience - a kleptomaniac. Fox is a pessimistic and sarcastic, but has the sharpest sense of humour Adlai knows and Link - well, Link's different. At night when windows have been snuck into and cheap alcohol has been drunk, hands roam and kisses are shared and it is never, ever spoken about. But Adlai isn't cool and suave like Link - who always has a cigarette dangling from pale fingers and draws people in with a single look from his grey eyes. Adlai's the friendly one: he's kind and a leader, bubbly and outwardly optimistic and therefore has his friends, but Link oozes confidence, and Adlai doesn't.

Garnet says Adlai has a low self-esteem, and that he needs to think more highly of himself, but Adlai can't help it. Twelve years of living with someone who thinks you'll never be good enough has it engraved in his head.

His father raises his fist and for one, horrible moment Adlai is convinced he's going to hit him. But instead he raises it up to his face and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Go." he says, and Adlai doesn't miss the opportunity; he darts around his father and flies down the stairs as fast he can, nearly crashing into Jenny as he hurls himself out the door.

"Wow, okay - uh, morning Addey?" Jenny turns to face him, one eyebrows raised. Adlai rolls his eyes and links one arm through hers, leading her down the pathway of his house. "You're such an idiot." he says, exasperated, but Jenny just laughs.  
"That's me!"

/

 _ten am_

"Okay, Fox - truth or dare?"  
"Truth."  
"Boo you're so boring, we already know who you like so what else is there to ask?"  
" _Excuse_ me?! No you do not!"  
"Fox you've had eyes for Addey's sister since you were, like, nine."

Adlai pulls a face and Jenny laughs, knocking his shoulder with her own. "Sorry, sorry. Touchy subject." she sticks out her tongue and Adlai finds himself wondering, not for the first time, what the hell Fox is thinking. Adlai loves his sister with his entire heart, but Garnet has no interest in Fox whatsoever. Jenny is pretty and outgoing and funny, and obviously likes him.

Speaking of his sister, out of the corner of his eyes Adlai can see a tall figure walking over. "Garnet!" he cries, and launches to his feet, sprinting over to her. It is very obvious that Garnet and Adlai are siblings. Both have tanned skin - not white like their mother was neither black like their father - with chocolatey brown eyes and hair, and a dusting of freckles. But where Garnet has long, curly hair, Adlai has a short fohawk, and where Garnet has piercings all the way up her ear, Adlai does not.

His sister laughs and hugs him tightly, before waving to the rest of his friends. "Hey Link, nice hair Jenny! Did you get it cut?" Adlai tries not to laugh at how Fox's face falls. After a few minutes of mindless chatter, Garnet states that she and Adlai have to go. But she stops in her tracks after a few steps, frowning. "You don't have a jacket."  
"What?" Adlai looks down at his bare arms. In his rush to leave the house, he must have forgotten to grab one. "Oh. It's not that big of a deal." he shrugs, ready to start walking again, but Garnet - always overprotective - shakes her head, adamant.

"Here, Addey. Take mine. I live just there, I can grab another." Link shrugs off his leather jacket and flings it at Adlai. Neither boy makes eye contact, and the faintest blush tinges Adlai's cheeks. Garnet rolls her eyes but thanks Link, and the two make their way to the Square. Adlai brings the jacket to his face and breathes in the scent of cigarette smoke and pine trees before slipping it on, a smile lingering on his face but forgetting about it as soon as Garnet launches into a story.

Garnet ran away from home when she was the same age that Adlai is now after their father gave her a black eye. She hasn't done so much as look at her old house since, but she tries her best to meet up with Adlai and one tradition they've kept is that she will always take him to the Reapings. It's her last year of being eligible, and after this one she'll be free.

/

Link is a year older than him and Fox two, so Adlai's without any of his closest friends in the fifteen year old section. Still, he's always been friendly, and finds himself easily slipping into conversation with the boys around him. The conversation fades pretty quickly, however, and Adlai is glad when the escort steps out. He just wants this to be over with.

The girl who's picked is sixteen, and looks rather similar to Adlai: tanned skin, brown hair, brown eyes and freckled. But she has distinct features that separate herself; her muscles and strong jaw make her gorgeous. Adlai can't help but cringe when he hears the screams and crying of the other girls, it's such an awful thing to listen to. The escort swiftly moves on and the sobbing dies down to muffled crying.

"The male tribute is... Adlai Adkins!"

 _No._

The only thought registering in Adlai's mind is that "it's not real it's not real" and he's so _sure_ that he'll wake up in a second, so the sharp prod in his back by another boy urging him to the stage brings him back down to earth in a painful thud. "Adlai? Adlai Adkins?" the escort calls out again and Adlai focuses on breathing - in out, in out, in out - as he makes his way to the stage.

He doesn't really feel anything onstage, he doesn't remember shaking hands with his district partner, and he doesn't remember being ushered to the Justice building. His father owns an old radio, and the noise it makes when it's not working is sort of what he hears now: fading static.

His first visitors are Jenny and Fox, who are at first clinging to each other and then to him, begging him to come back. He makes empty promises because honestly, he's never hated himself more until now. His father comes and later, Adlai won't even register that visit because it's so short - a clap on the shoulder, a "good luck", and then nothing. Garnet cries and cries and cries, and Adlai just holds her. He doesn't know what to do or say and it makes him feel useless, because he always knows what to say.

Link sits down next to him and puts an arm around him, pulling him close to his chest. Adlai refuses to cry, not now, but he lets himself be held. "Keep the jacket." Link whispers. "You'll be taking it off a dead body." Adlai says back, and he can feel Link stiffen.  
"That's not true." he whispers.

Once he leaves, Adlai sits alone and takes deep breathes, trying not to think that it is true, it really is.

* * *

 **authors note**

whew not too sure how i feel about this one, i love these two characters a lot and i hope i did them justice! hasn't really been checked and i'm so sorry for any dumb mistakes. hope you liked it!

-lizzie(:


	6. who we are

_chapter four}_

 _who we are_

 _[district six reapings]_

* * *

 ** _Kiva Kyva Byke, 15_**

 _the school, district six_

 _week before the reaping, one twenty pm_

"Yeah, but he was crap at it, so I left pretty soon after."  
"Damn Savera, you sure you got the right guy? Ivan is like, _super_ hot. Like a god."  
"Yeah the god of shit kissing I guess."

Kyva sits, only half-listening to her friend's pointless conversation. It's their break for lunch, and they're all gathered around one circular, wooden table - bags strewn on the damp grass and several seats empty: Kyva's gang has a reputation for being the meanest, most arrogant and worst-behaved group of people, so having missing members is common - detentions are no stranger to anyone here. Kyva's the ringleader, she supposes, it's always "Kyva's gang", never Savera's, never Emma's, never Lori's.

She thinks it's kind of funny, in a way. If you ask anyone and they'd tell you that Kyva and Savera are best friends, although to Kyva that couldn't be further from the truth. Savera is rude and big-headed and _nasty,_ everything you'd expect from one of Kyva's friends, whereas Kyva... is not. She's polite and funny and sweet - inwardly. Only ever inwardly. Kyva's not a coward, she's anything but, yet when it comes to her group of "friends" it's different. Kyva knows that Savera's waiting for the right moment to take her down - _that's the lamest thing ever, god where are we - the Hunger Games?_ she snorts at her own thoughts but nobody notices - and if she showed any display of weakness, Savera would pounce on it in seconds.

Kyva sighs and drops the blade of grass she was idly twirling between her fingers. She turns to look at the girls she's with; there's Savera next to her, then Bethan, Lori, Trayne, Emma and Geara. With a sudden start, Kyva realises she hates them. All of them. They're so narrow minded and it makes Kyva want to _scream._ All they've known and all they'll ever know is trains and cars and repairing them. At least Kyva tried to challenge this, when she was younger and boldly voiced her dream of going to another District. Then _some_ boy laughed right in her face and said that They would cut out her tongue and make her be a slave. Kyva was six, she didn't question who They were or why they'd cut out her tongue for wanting to go to another District. And so, she sits and she talks and she begrudgingly accepts that all she'll ever be is a mechanic.

It doesn't stop her dreaming, though, of oceans so big they seemed to tip right over the horizon, and of trees that could touch the sky. The dreaming never stopped, but somehow Kyva found herself the ringleader of a spiteful gaggle of malicious girls, and she knows that if she dared speak her thoughts, she'd get laughed at and shut down.

"You with us, Kyva?" she's drawn out of her thoughts by Savera nudging her.  
"What? Uh, yeah. What are we talking about?" Lori giggles and Kyva follows her gaze to where a boy, younger than them, is sat by himself, smiling and mumbling to himself. "That's tragic." Trayne snorts.

Kyva winces.

She's seen that boy around, she knows that he has a loving family and a huge circle of friends that support him. He's probably waiting for them to come out of their lessons or something. She hates, hates, _hates,_ how they always end up picking on the smaller, younger ones who are alone. If he had his friends with them, he wouldn't have been graced a second look. But instead..

"That is so embarrassing. What's he even doing?" she says without really thinking, knowing full well what he was doing and feeling a pang in her chest.  
"Praying or some shit." Trayne shrugs.  
"What a freak." Bethan breathes.

Kyva clenches her fists under the table but just snorts, flicking her hair and turning her attention away from the boy. "Not worth our time. Anyway." The others follow suit, and soon the conversation topic is launched back into Savera and Ivan or whoever the fuck she's making out with this week. As the group leave for their next class, Kyva doesn't join in on their usual harsh comments. Instead she digs her fingernails into her palms and focuses on her own thoughts.

"What the fuck is her _skirt?!_ "  
 _The shade compliments her eyes. It suits her._

"Yeah, she slept with, like, three guys last month. Slag."  
 _She's figuring herself out, and enjoying herself. She looks happy._

"Ew I can smell him from here."  
 _His family have always had money troubles, and that's okay. You're being overdramatic._

The thing is, this carefree commentary is always shut behind sealed lips. Kyva would never say any of this out loud. And she thinks it's a shame, really, because a lot of the people they walk past and make snide comments at seem like genuinely nice people. Kyva's beginning to feel like she's trapped: in this gang, in District 6 - all of it. She wants it to change, but she doesn't know how.

/

 _district 6_

 _day of reaping, eight am_

"Where the hell is my- Dixie!"

Kyva screams through her clenched teeth in frustration, and throws down the skirt she's holding. A giggle coming from across the hall confirms Kyva's suspicions, and she stomps out to face her sister. "Dixie, I'm not joking that is _my_ dress you can't just- Cara?" to Kyva's surprise it's her youngest sister she finds with her dress in her hands, a proud grin spread across her face. Kyva rolls her eyes and snatches it back. "Where's your usual partner in crime, then?" Cara just shrugs and gestures down the stairs vaguely. "Think she might be upset."

Of course. It's Dixie's first Reaping.

Kyva lets out a deep breath, throwing a glance down the stairs. "Right." she swats Cara on the back of her head with her dress, and leaves her room, pulling the dress over her vest as she does so. "Get dressed already. We're leaving soon." she calls, before slowly making her way down into the kitchen. Her sisters are infuriating, both of them think the funniest thing in the world is making Kyva annoyed. Cara, she can handle. Dixie, she just hits her or something and then they're alright. But two of them? _God._

But she does love her family, and as she turns the corner and finds a usually bright and mischievous Dixie sat at the table anxiously chewing on her thumb, she remembers why. Her father is loud and funny and his laugh fills entire rooms, but now he sits and strokes Dixie's free hand, talking softly. Her mother is different, Moa Byke is quiet and tends to fade into the background. But now she talks confident and clear, reassuring her middle child that everything's okay, it's going to be okay.

Dixie looks up and her eyes meet Kyva, who just smiles and nods. Dixie smiles back, and then Kyva makes her way to the door, leaning against the wall and waiting for the rest of her family.

She taps her foot idly, and traces her fingers through cracks in the paint behind her. She wishes it wasn't the Reaping. If she was waiting for them and it was any other day, she'd be out in the garden, trying to see how far up the trees she can climb. The thought brings a smile to Kyva's face. She's quite lean and pretty agile, so she's always enjoyed swinging from branch to branch. She'll have to challenge Dixie tomorrow, after all of this Reaping business, to see who can get up the big oak faster.

Kyva stands there, smiling, thinking up plans for tomorrow and forgetting all about the looming Reaping.

/

Savera and Lori are stood on either side of her, and for once Kyva is glad. Sure, she acts tough and careless but when faced with the possibility of going into the Games, anyone would be scared. Or, she thinks. She hopes.

The escort is a tall man, and very clearly has had plastic surgery to erase the lines from his face. Whenever he smiles he winces like it's painful, and knowing the ridiculous surgeries they have in the Capitol, it probably is. He goes through the speech and plays the video, and when he picks a slip from the first glass bowl, he spends ages drawing out tension. Lori sucks in a gasp and grasps for Kyva's hand and honestly, Kyva's glad. She clings to it, sweat mingling and their fingernails digging into each other.

"Kiva Byke!"

Kyva's so used to going by her middle name that when her name is called, it doesn't feel real for a second. It doesn't feel like it's _her._ But Lori has ripped her hand from hers and is shaking violently, and Savera is repeating "oh my God, oh my God, oh my God". In the back of her mind somewhere, Kyva thinks back to the boy last week and thinks Savera's being a bit hypocritical.

She begins to walk dumbly out of the section, but Lori grabs at her arm. Kyva looks back, surprised, to find Lori scanning her face, shaking her head. "You look too scared." she whispers, and then pushes Kyva away. Kyva acknowledges this with a nod, and quickly sets her face to one of stone. She walks up to the stage, hoping that the cameras can't pick up on the way her knees are knocking together.

All her life, Kyva's pretended to be tough and scary. She's always wanted it to stop. A startling thought jumps to the front of Kyva's mind. _But I have to carry on. I can't stop, because if I act kind and weak, I will be dead in a matter of hours._

* * *

 ** _Vito Shrike, 13_**

 _district six_

 _eight thirty am_

Vito stands in line, looking around him and taking in all the people milling past. A lot of the kids his age are crying, or clinging onto the sleeves of parents nervously. Some of the older ones just look weary, and they trudge along to their sections making little effort to talk to one another. A young woman is stood with tears in her eyes, talking to her crowd of children - all of Reaping age.

Vito cranes his head around to take in the mass of teenagers behind him, desperately trying to find something positive in this. It's what he's been taught, it's what he's always known. Positivity, and that if he can't find it, he'll have to make his own. It's hard to make it here, though, when everyone's eyes look heavy with worry. He wants to do something, he's never been good at just being idle.

"Vito."

The voice of his older brother pulls him out of his thoughts, and he blinks up at him, before realising it's his turn to have his blood drawn. He shuffles forward, screwing his eyes shut, and sticks out a finger, waiting for it to be over. His eyes fly open in surprise when the Peacekeeper grabs his wrist forcefully and yank him forwards. The prick of pain all but ignored as he furrows his brows in confusion.

His brother, Spyke pulls him out of the way and to the side. "What's up?" he asks, taking in his brothers expression.  
"Why did she have to be so forceful?" Vito mutters, rubbing at his finger absently. Spyke laughs softly and shakes his head, linking arms with his brother and walking him towards his section. "Some people are aggressive, Vito. You've just got to rise above it."

Vito nods and steps over the rope barrier into his section, squeezing Spyke's arm in goodbye and weaving his way further into the crowd. He's looking for Roewe, his best friend. Vito is optimistic and friendly, and therefore his circle of friends is large, but Roewe is his _best_ friend. He can't help but giggle when he spies blue hair amongst the brown and blonde, and raises a hand to his own. They had made makeshift hair dye out if ink a year or so back, and it never really faded. Still, it's handy for situations like this. Vito's of average height for his age, slightly smaller maybe, so it was easy to get sucked into the swarming mass of people and get lost.

He finds Roewe and clutches his arm to steady him from falling over. "Hey." Roewe glances down at him with a grin that Vito returns, and the two fall into familiar and comfortable silence as their escort walks onstage.

Roewe is an atheist, but he's never discouraged Vito or his beliefs. Vito was raised a Christian, but the laws on religion in Panem are strict. He's been told that before Panem, there were _billions of_ religious people, but now it's considered outlandish and weird. Vito can't se why, it taught him his positivity and determination, but whenever he asked about it all he got in return where shrugs and sad smiles. Vito thinks in a time of war, the amount of religious people would have spiked but apparently it went the other way. People lost their homes, their family, their freedom - and their faith.

Vito's milling this over when District Six's escort steps out, greeting the crowd with tight smiles. He's trying to stand still so his wig doesn't fall of, Vito observes with a small smile. The video is played and the speech is read, and then the District goes very quiet when he reads the name of the female tribute.

There's a murmur of movement over in the fifteen year old girls section, but finally a girl steps out and takes confident steps up to the stage. She has dark brown hair and deep brown eyes and Vito recognises her instantly as Kyva Byke, the toughest person in school. He swallows down his mean feelings towards her and instead bows his head, quietly wishing her good luck.

"And now, for the boys!" the escort chirps, and Vito finds himself sucking in a breath. The slip of cream paper is unfolded, and the red ribbon falls to the floor. Vito tracks the movement, and the moment it hits the stage the name is called.

"Vito Shrike!"

Vito's head snaps up and next to him Roewe lets out a strangled yell. _There's a reason. There's a reason. There's a reason._ Vito keeps repeating to himself, but it does nothing to still the nerves that seem to crawl up the back of his throat. His steps are shaky and his fists are clenched by his side, and all the while he's repeating to himself: _there's a reason, there's a reason there_ has _to be a reason._

He waits for some good-looking, athletic eighteen year old to step forward and volunteer, to win the Games and live out the rest of his life as a wealthy Victor - free of any horrible happenings in his past. Nothing happens.

The only sound as Vito walks to the stage is the sound of his footsteps.

* * *

 _ **Kiva Kyva Byke, 15**_

Savera doesn't come. Neither does Lori. There's no Bethan, no Trayne, no Emma, no Geara. The room is small, but she is sat all alone and suddenly it feels to big, way too big, like there's no escape. Judging by the Peacekeepers guarding the door, she supposes there isn't.

Her family come barrelling in, Cara and Dixie wailing and her mother trembling, her father stood pale and still - and Carter takes two steps forward to engulf her in a hug. Carter moved out a couple of years ago, and Kyva's missed her older brother. He sits them both down on the sofa and rocks her gently. Their mother sits on the other side and strokes her hair, and Dixie and Cara climb onto their laps, limbs hanging off at awkward angles. Their father kneels down in front of them and wraps his arms around them all. Nobody speaks.

She feels safe.

She thinks it might be the last time she'll ever feel that.

* * *

 ** _Vito Shrike, 13_**

Spyke and Vito used to wrestle a lot, so the warm embrace is slightly odd to Vito. Still, he hugs his brother back tightly, letting sobs rack his body. He's not ready to say goodbye to his family, not like this. He doesn't want to leave them, he doesn't want to go into the Hunger Games. His mother presses something cold into his palm and through teary eyes he opens his hand to find a clock - golden, and in the shape of a clock. He gasps and closes his fist again, watching how the steeple sticks out between his fingers.

"We will pray for you, Vito." his father whispers after they've said goodbye, and then they're gone.

Roewe tries to distract him, making jokes about all the things they're going to do when he gets back. But his voice cracks and his shoulders tremble and he has to leave pretty soon, but not before hugging Vito tightly.

And then Vito's all alone, wondering how on earth he's going to survive the Hunger Games.

* * *

 **authors note**

lil reminder that any views in this are not my own! religion would be outlandish in panem, but obviously i have nothing against it.

 _also, any reserved spots have 10 days left to submit! i'll pm you when it reaches 5, and then 2 again._

anyway, district 6! sorry this took longer than i expected. what are your thoughts on them? this hasn't been edited yet, but i will in the next day or two, so i'm sorry for any typos or weird mistakes!

-lizzie(:


	7. obedience

_chapter five}_

 _obedience_

 _[district nine reapings]_

* * *

 **Rye Emmillet, 17**

 _district nine_

 _day before reaping, eight am_

Zebediah yawns loudly, stretching his arms and flopping back onto a hay stack, causing straw to scatter around him. He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, a peaceful smile settling upon on his face. Rye glances over at her uncle with a similar, yet smaller, smile. After the accident in the fields, Zeb has to hobble around with a fake leg that's clunky and awkward to control, and standing up for too long can tire him, so he always takes the opportunity to sit or lie down. Still, the loss of one leg hasn't really dampened his fiery personality, and if anything the two are closer than ever; Rye has to support him and help him walk sometimes, so they spend a lot of time together. Zeb was young when Rye was born, in his early teens, and as her uncle and godfather he took it upon himself to teach her "life skills". When she was younger this meant how to make friends and sweeten her teachers, as well as operating machinery and introducing her to her now-favourite hobby, carpentry. As she grew older and came out to him, it's now how to pick up girls, how to gamble and sometimes, how to open up. The latter hasn't been too successful.

Rye doesn't really talk much. She's cautious, down-to-earth and obedient and compared to her impulsive, extroverted uncle the two clash sometimes. Zeb has a large vocabulary, and gesticulates a lot whilst telling a story. On the other hand, Rye thinks people talk too much, and she isn't exactly the best at holding a conversation. Still, it's not like she's unfriendly - Rye is pleasant and polite and always smiling. "Don't know where you get it from." Zeb will say, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Certainly not from me." And that's fair enough, Zeb is charismatic and smooth but is neither pleasant or polite. The obvious answer here would be her parents, but they've been pretty absent throughout her life.

Rye picks up the small, wooden doll and turns it over in her hands, examining it carefully. She's always loved building and shaping things: whenever anything breaks in the house - shelves falling or chair legs snapping - you'd find Rye hunched over it, tools littered around her and eyes narrowed in concentration. She's slipped back into that state of mind now, as she sits on a stall in an old barn tucked in a remote corner of the family farm, hunched over her latest project. In the back of her mind she registers that her back is aching from leaning forwards but Rye disregards it as unimportant.

Zeb watches his eldest niece fondly as the workshop slash hay storage facility falls quiet. His gaze traces how strands of black hair falls to the sides of her face as she leans over her work, almost like a curtain cutting him off. He leans back into the hay and stretches his arms out above him. Zeb tries relentlessly to get Rye to talk more at any other time, but he's learnt that whilst she works on her carpentry conversation is off-limits. She's working on a present for her younger sister at the minute, and at the rate Rye works it'll be finished _way_ before Poppy's birthday. She's always been like that, Rye: hardworking and pragmatic. Zeb recalls the memory of how he tried to get her into the arts when she was younger with a wide grin. She prefers concrete things, and would take action and practicality over creativity and "meaningless drama" (her words) any day.

"How's it coming along?" he asks after twenty or so minutes, and Rye jumps at the sound of his lazy voice breaking the thick silence.  
"Good." she says after recovering, an eager smile accompanying the nod of her head.  
"Good," Zeb echoes, "that's a bit noncommittal. Come on, let's see."

His niece rolls her eyes but holds up the doll, and Zeb props himself up on his elbows to get a look. Poppy and Rye share the same black hair, the same grey eyes, the same sprinkling of freckles and the same thick brows. It's almost as if she's just a smaller, two-year-old version of Rye, but Zeb can see that the doll Rye's making is very clearly of Poppy. The golden sunlight filtering through the windows catches the soft lines of the wood and Zeb can see the amount of detail Rye has put into the birthday gift. She's never been exactly great at the painting part of what she does, and her paint resources are limited, but it still looks professional and polished. The hair is in two ponytails instead of the one Rye normall sports, and the clothes are _definately_ Poppy's, not Rye's.

"That's great, Rye. That's really, really good."

A pleased smile makes it's way onto Rye's face, and she nods her always-quiet thanks. "Let's go have breakfast then, eh?" he says, and Rye nods again, making her way over to help her uncle up.

Outside the barn and on the way to the main family house, Zeb and Rye, arms linked, watch as workers make their way to the different parts of the farm. It's not exactly a big farm, but they have enough money and could afford Zeb's prosthetic - however clunky and awkward. "Look! It's your Peacekeeper!" Zeb whispers suddenly, and Rye can immediately feel her cheeks flush. "He's not my-" she begins, but Zeb cuts her off with a laugh. He nods over to where Lieutenant Maverick is leaning against a wall, talking with Rye's father. He looks up and meets her gaze, but Rye quickly looks away.  
"I see how he looks at you."  
"Yes and _I_ see how he scares Poppy and makes fun of your leg. And how he's a Peacekeeper, Zeb, not someone from school."  
"Well he's definitely not from the Capitol, I'll tell you that. Different accent." Rye didn't question how Zeb knew different accents, knowing her uncle he was probably "vague acquaintances" with someone or other who most likely should be in jail, not hiding in Nine.  
"Zeb." she says firmly, pulling on his arm towards the house.

Her uncle pouts. "You're no fun."

* * *

 _d_ _istrict nine_

 _day of reaping, eleven am_

"Next."

Rye takes a step forward and willingly holds out her arm. A cold, smooth gloved hand wraps it's white fingers around her wrist and yanks her forward. Rye staggers slightly but says nothing. Obedience and not saying much are what has kept her out of trouble so far, why should she stop now? Zeb has stated - many times - his dislike or her natural obedience towards the Capitol but Rye doesn't let it get to her too much.

 _(Of course there is that one memory, this time last year plus a month or two, when snow had fallen harshly and thickly and with no sign of stopping. Like most winters, the farm suffered. There were no crops and no workers, and it felt a lot like the farm had lost a limb or two. Like most winters, Zeb complained about how the Capitol ignored the poor and starving. "What would you have me do?" Rye had asked during an argument between the two of them, after Zeb had made an offhand comment about rules and regulations and how she followed them dutifully. "Fight back?" she had said it with a voice full of scorn but Zeb had stumbled forwards, grabbed her shirt harshly and yelled "yes!" right in her face, his eyes so alive with fire that Rye felt very, very scared.)_

She looks down at the huge binder on the table in front of her, where her thumb is now being pressed down roughly. The white paper stains red with her blood, and she watches with fascination how the machine scans it and how **'RYE EMMILLET'** flashes on the small screen. Her mind is busy whirring with ideas and possibilities of how the machine works. She's a builder not an inventor, but that doesn't keep her interest at bay. She likes knowing how things work. For a startling minute a violent thought jumps to the front of her mind.

 _if you were zebediah if you weren't so obedient you'd be scared rye they have you all on database they know who you are you are their property_

It's gone as fast as it came, and she slips out of the line as soon as the hand loosens it's grip on her wrist. As she walks along the concrete to her section, she cranes her head around to look for her family but amongst the greys and browns that seem to be the only palette in the drab district of Nine, she can't find them. She stands alone in the seventeen year old female section, surrounded by sisters and friends and even strangers who warm to each other in this moment of desperation. Rye is pleasant enough to the people she meets. Although she heavily doubts anyone would have negative thoughts towards her - _i'm not boasting it's just factual -_ she just doesn't have any close friends. Aside from Zeb and Poppy, people she cares deeply for are far and few between. Her loyalty and need to protect those she loves, however, is unmatched.

District Nine's escort walks onstage, a woman who would naturally be incredibly tall but her height seems to have doubled due to her ridiculous, orange hair. She talks for a while, the bubbly voice meeting everyone's expectations of this Capitol stranger, a splash of unwelcome colour in the routine neutrals surrounding them. "And our female tribute is..."

"Althea Miller!"

Refreshing relief floods through Rye like a sip of cold water on a hot day, but it is cut short by the horrified silence that abruptly settles upon the town square. Rye looks around, trying to see why everyone is so stunned into silence. Is she young? Yes, there, coming out of the twelve year old section and-

 _oh._

The girl is small and scrawny and ginger and is missing both arms and a leg. She is aided to the stage by a group of Peacekeepers, and one of them has his arm wrapped around her waist exactly like -

Bam _._

And suddenly Rye is eight years old and looking for her uncle whilst snot and tears run down her face, because her parents are arguing _again_ and she's old enough now to understand what "mistake" and "accident" mean when they're targeted at her. She can't find him in his makeshift workshop, nor in the house so she tries the fields and has just turned the corner when a blood-curling, horrific scream slices through the air and makes her blood run cold. She can see green grass stained red and the old tractor lying on its side, her uncle next to it, his face unnaturally grey, and writhing in pain. She can see something next to him and oh my god - is that his _leg?_ She doesn't remember much after that, only screaming for help and wrapping her arm around her waist as she helps him up.

"I volunteer!"

The words are strangled and quiet but they are heard. Heads whip towards her in every direction, sympathy in people's eyes that are probably mirrored in her own, because they're not sympathetic for _her._ Rye is tall and fairly strong and at a first glance she looks like she could just make it. As she takes steps towards the stage - what she's done not yet fully hitting her - she realizes that volunteering was probably a thought in a lot of people's minds. She was just the only one brave

 _(stupid? idiotic?)_

to do it.

* * *

 _ **Wyatt Einkorn, 14**_

 _district nine_

 _week before reaping, four pm_

Wyatt supposes that with eight children to feed, he's lucky he ever sees his parents at all. Still, he could count on two hands the amount of times he's seen them this week. When they pass each other in the fields there'll be a hug and a promise of talk later that ultimately falls flat, or when they hurriedly place a plate of food before him at mealtimes there's always a "there you go", from them, and a "thank you" from him. Sometimes, if he's _really_ lucky, one of them will come in to say goodnight if they have a spare minute. But they sleep late and rise early, their hours are long and therefore any free time tends to be reserved for catching up on sleep. Still, it's not as if Wyatt's angry. He understands. And being one of the middle children, it's not as though he has a ton of responsibility shoved on his shoulders - like Cyril.

His eldest brother had to grow up way too quickly, and is normally the one parenting the rest of their siblings. Cyril and Isabelle both, really, but where Cyril is sensible and mature and reliable, Isabelle is gossipy and loud and rather obnoxious and so to their parents Cyril is always the first port of call. After nineteen-year-old Cyril and seventeen-year-old Isabelle, there's Rachelle, 16, and then Wyatt himself. Next is Jefferson, 13, Dawson, 11, and then Marsha and Phoebe - 9 and 6 respectively. Overall, until recently there always seemed to be a crying toddler or annoying child running about. But as the youngest Einkorn children were outgrowing infancy and stepping into their newfound personalities, the oldest were in the final years of school and applying for jobs in the fields.

Wyatt's got a job, too. It doesn't pay well, it's only part-time, but it helps. Every day after the end-of-school bell rings at three-forty, he troops up the dirt path towards the field where he works alongside Isabelle, Rachelle, Jefferson and Dawson. They work until sunset and then they all troop back down past the school and towards home, where they'll eat dinner and go to bed. Then they'll all wake up, have breakfast, go to school, go to work, come home, have dinner, go to bed, wake up, have breakfast, go to school, go to work, come home, have dinner, go to bed. Then they wake up, have breakfast and it just goes on and on.

The thing with Wyatt, is that everything he does seems to be... ordinary. He's good at his job; not good enough to ever be promoted but he's not at risk of being fired, either. He's good in school, too; he's never been top of his class but he's also never been bottom. He's glad about that, actually. Growing up with seven siblings and two constantly very stressed-out parents has taught Wyatt that the best way to get through every day was just to keep quiet and do your work. He's grown up to be obedient and ready to blend into the background in a moments notice. He does what's expected of him without making a fuss, ever, and moves along.

"Hey, psst! Wyatt!"

Wyatt is drawn abruptly out of his thoughts, and blinks stupidly for a second at his surroundings, the chalkboard and his classmates seeing foreign before the realisation he's at school sinks in. "Wyatt, hey!" He casts an uneasy glance towards the front of the classroom where his strict maths teacher is writing something on the board, before turning around in his seat to find the source of the whispering. He's not at all surprised to find it coming from the boy in the seat behind him. "What is it, Duncan?"

"Can you skip work after school today? A few of us are coming back to mine and you should come!" The boy in the seat next to Duncan nods energetically, and Wyatt feels his heart sink. Duncan has been his best friend for as long as he can remember, the two spend all their time with each other and are generally inseparable. Except form after school. The Behring family are quite a bit better off than the Einkorn family, and they only have one child - Duncan - instead of eight. Duncan has never had to work and tends to forget that it's not something Wyatt can just ditch when he feels like it. He swallows down any negative feelings and just shakes his head a little. "No sorry." Duncan opens his mouth to say something else but the shrill bell cuts him off and Wyatt stumbles out of his desk as fast as he can.

Outside of his classroom he finds his siblings and the group set off to work. Jefferson, Isabelle and Dawson all have very vibrant personalities and next to them Wyatt feels like he's invisible. It's nothing new. The three of them are walking up ahead, whilst Wyatt walks with Rachelle at the back, listening to snippets of their conversation that make their way back to them. Rachelle is loyal and quiet and Wyatt gets along well with her. The two don't really talk and it suits them both just fine.

A pleasant cold breeze wraps around them and the bright sky presents itself without a cloud in sight. It's routine and ordinary, yes, and sometimes hard, but Wyatt doesn't think he'd change his life for the world.

* * *

 _district nine_

 _day of reaping, eleven am_

Wyatt stands in clothes that were once Cyril's and will soon be Jefferson's. He's absently rubbing at his thumb, still throbbing from where they pricked his blood, and looking around him. Three of his siblings are able to be Reaped, and all of them have taken tesserae. His name is in the bowl 33 times this year, but he blocks the thought from his mind every time it tries to worm it's way back in. The Games are the type of thing that happens to other people, he should be fine. Deep down he knows that those thoughts are both childish and wrong and the number flashes brightly at him every time he closes his eyes.

 _33._

Their escort is tall and orange and has a long name Wyatt knows he'll forget. She talks and shows a video and as she does so the last of the late-comers spill into the square, Duncan among them. He finds his place next to Wyatt and grins sheepishly and Wyatt smiles fondly back. They're different but still best friends, and Wyatt is grateful for him. The video draws to a close and then the escort goes to draw the name for the female tribute.

 _33._

She ends up reaping Althea Miller, the girl who was run over by a tractor or something similar a couple of years back. For a few, terrible seconds Wyatt thinks nobody is going to volunteer. Eventually someone does, and Wyatt can't say he's ever seen her before. But she looks strong and healthy and fairly and she volunteered, didn't she? She must have _some_ faith in herself.

 _33._

But Wyatt didn't know how you could make split-second decision like that. He couldn't. He likes plans, solid plans that he could go on. And he certainly didn't like making the plans - Wyatt is as far from a natural leader than you could get. He likes to weigh all of his actions before acting, and if this makes him come off as hesitant or indecisive, then so be it. But he isn't, he just likes to think everything through. Hasty decisions never turned out well, but well thought-out plans always gave optimum results, in his experience.

 _33._

"And the male tribute for District Nine is... Wyatt Einkorn!"

 _33._

He doesn't know what to do for a minute. It's not as though he's frozen, it's like he's _paralysed._ Or, his body is; his mind is a riot and a thousand thoughts a minute are flying through his head, bouncing off the walls of his mind with a dull thud that slowly builds up a headache. After a matter of seconds his body recovers and somehow he manages to run on auto-pilot. He squeezes Duncan's hand - _when did he hold it?!_ \- and makes his way to the stage. He shakes his District partner's hand. He follows the Peacekeepers to the Justice Building. He falls back on what he's always known: to do what's expected of him without fuss.

 _Thirty-fucking-three times._

Inside the Justice Building there's a whirlwind of tears and hugs and goodbye's and Wyatt forces himself to register what's happening. He'd only kick himself in the arena if he couldn't remember this moment his family. "I'm okay. I'm alright." he finds himself repeating, and although that couldn't be further from the truth all Wyatt's ever known is putting his family before himself, and he does so now. He wills himself to be strong even though he's never been so before now, and thinks he might cry when Phoebe gives him her tooth. It's one of the grosser tokens in the Games, sure, but it's Phoebe's and she's sobbing and she wants him to have it. Who is he to say no? His token will be a goddamned tooth. What of it.

His family leave and he's being shepherd onto a train, but every time he shuts his eyes he still sees that number stamped across the back of his eyelids. Thirty-three. Thirty-fucking-three.

* * *

 **authors note**

oof yikes sorry for being gone for a while i was grounded lol.

anyway i hope you like this chapter! it's the longest one so far yet phew not really sure why, but hope you liked it! i like the tributes for district 9 v much and i hope i wrote them well(: tell me what you think! who do you think will go further? your reviews are always lovely and i don't think ive said it yet but thank you they mean a lot to me!(: as always, hasn't been checked very thoroughly - i will probably go back and do a mass edit once i finish the reaping chapters(:

in other news, **theres a new spot open!** due to the person who reserved him not submitting, the **district five male** is now **open!** the form has been taken off my fpage but you'll find it on the first chapter in the authors note here(: you can submit even if you've already submitted tributes. i really cant wait to see what you send in!

-lizzie(:


	8. brains and brawn

_chapter six}_

 _brains and brawn_

 _[district one reapings]_

* * *

 **Diamonique Gemmin, 17**

 _district one_

 _day of reaping, seven am_

Diamonique sits behind her vanity, perched atop her cushioned pink stool. Her left hand rests on the white wood and her right hand daintily paints the nails of the former a dark red colour. It's pleasantly quiet in Diamonique's flawless room, one of the alcove windows is open slightly and a refreshing breeze dances in, carrying with it the soft sounds of a nearby bird call. Diamonique's been up for just over two hours now and everything is as it should be: her white, fluffy double bed is made, her white, fluffy rug is straightened and her white, fluffy cushions on the window seat are currently serving as a bed to her white, fluffy cat.

But her morning hasn't just been spent tidying her room, Diamonique has showered, dried her hair, then curled her hair, and after her nails dry she'll do her make up. Reapings are a big deal in District One, in a district full of beautiful people not caring about your appearance on Reaping Day was practically unheard of. Diamonique supposes that to an outer district tribute she'd be considered _extraordinarily_ vain but being so is somewhat the norm in One. And Diamonique is truly gorgeous, she knows it and everyone knows it, so why wouldn't she try her best to emphasise her features?

She looks up from painting the penultimate nail and studies her reflection in the mirror. Even without make-up she's the epitome of beauty: her blonde hair falls down her back in natural curls, luscious and bright and healthy. Her eyes are a light blue and her eyelashes are naturally long and black. Her skin is pale and practically unflawed, being rich and from One has ensured Diamonique to have all the skin care products she could ever want. She's still dressed in her simple, white lace nightgown but her eyes flicker over to where her Reaping outfit hangs over the handle to her wardrobe.

Focusing her attention back onto her nails, Diamonique lifts up her little finger, the only one out of ten nails to not have a coat of crimson. She swipes the brush across it delicately, the familiar smell of the varnish creeping into her nostrils. She has spent many hours in the past sat here, painting her nails a whole range of colours. Today, it's a blood-red colour to match her dress.

After blowing on her nails for a while to speed up the drying process, Diamonique ties her back into a slack ponytail and picks up a make up brush. She applies her foundation and then swipes gold eyeshadow across her eyelids, followed afterwards by a flick of eyeliner. Next is black mascara and a healthy red blush, and the final touch: dark red lipstick to go with her dress and nails. She takes her hair down and runs a brush through it gently, loosening the tight curls.

Satisfied with her appearance, Diamonique pushes her chair back and makes her way over to her wardrobe, discarding her nightgown along the way. She picks up the dress and marvels it for a while. It's dark red and comes to just above her knees, with jewels encrusted at the neckline. She steps into it with a smile and opens her wardrobe, revealing a full-length mirror on the inside of the door.

She twirls around for a while, striking a pose every now and then. Once she's done preening, Diamonique picks up her black heels and makes her way downstairs. In the kitchen, her mother is stood in front of the oven, chatting with her little sister Gloria who's sat eating breakfast behind the white table. "Morning mother." Diamonique chirps, flashing her mother a pearly smile when she turns around. Her mother gives a little gasp. "Oh Diamonique look at you!"

Diamonique smiles at the praise and slips into the chair next to Gloria, who's looking not at all fazed about her first Reaping. Diamonique is handed a small bowl of fresh berries by her mother and smiles her thanks. She looks around the kitchen and then gives a small sigh. Her mother instantly notices. "What's wrong?" she fusses, standing next to her eldest daughter with a worried frown on her face. Diamonique shakes her head.

"I was hoping Daddy would be back for the Reaping. I miss him." she pouts, delicately taking a bite of a red strawberry. Her mother's expression softens and she goes to stroke her daughter's hair. Thinking better of messing up her immaculate curls at the last second, she settles instead on squeezing her shoulder. "Your father's a busy man, Diamonique. And a very successful one at that. He sent you your dress, though, that was good right?"  
"I suppose." Diamonique sighs.

She's not stupid - the exact opposite, actually - she knows her father's work means he has to be at the Capitol a lot of the time, and it's supplied them with more money than they know what to do with, but it would be nice for him to actually be home sometime. Gloria flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. "Can we go? I'm excited." The girls' mother smiles fondly at her children. "Of course. You two both look as pretty as a picture, I do hope a camera picks you up."

/

District One's escort beams excitedly out at the crowd. Her lilac hair falls down to her ankles even in a high ponytail, and her lavender dress flutters around her knees in the breeze. "Hello, citizens of District One! I'm your new escort, Violet Vass!" it made sense to Diamonique, who is always proud to say she's highly intelligent and has a logical mind, District One is supposed to be youthful and beautiful. Their escorts are supposed to be so, too, and in Diamonique's six years of Reapings, Violet is the third one they've had.

Diamonique has no intentions of volunteering. Throughout her life she's only done the necessary training, and although she's always enjoyed it she's not too sure she could stand being in a dirty arena for more than a few days. And outer district tributes, god they must s _tink._ She subconsciously wrinkles her nose at the thought, as if the smell of starvation and desperation was right in front of her.

She's stood in her section, Eleanor on one side and Charlotte on the other. Her two best friends have dressed up nearly as much as her, although Diamonique has no shame in admitting she looks better than both of them. As Violet speaks the chatter around the town square dies down. The Reaping this year is supposed to be very interesting indeed, because although they've picked a male tribute (Charmeuse Linn, an eighteen year old she's seen around the training academy), none of the eighteen year old girls were deemed fit for the Games. It's kind of a free for all for any ambitious _(a_ _nd stupid,_ Diamonique thinks), sixteen year olds eager to prove their worth or whatever. Diamonique thinks it's going to be very funny to watch indeed. She's not worried that she'll be Reaped, someone will volunteer and even if they didn't, she's pretty confident she could handle herself in the arena. It's just, the d _irt..._

"And our female tribute for the 152nd Hunger Games is... Diamonique Gemmin!"

She blinks up at the escort for a second, and next to her Eleanor squeals and squeezes her hand excitedly. Thoughts whirr around Diamonique's brain. She could go up there, looking afraid and hoping someone volunteers, which would make her look weak and pathetic to her friends - and Diamonique Gemmin is _not_ weak and pathetic - or she could go into the Games. She could handle herself. She could _definitely_ handle herself.

With a deep breath, Diamonique struts her way to the stage. Someone wolf whistles as she stands next to the escort, and she throws her hair back with a wink. Violet gasps. "Oh look at you! You're _gorgeous!_ Do we have any volunteers?" Diamonique smirks and snatches the microphone from Violet.  
"Don't bother. I was going to volunteer anyway." Violet beams at her.

It's a lie, a huge lie and she desperately hopes that nobody can see the beads of sweat forming upon her forehead, and for a second her heart's beating so hard and fast that she's scared someone will hear it and laugh at her. She takes another deep breath.

She was going into the Hunger Games.

* * *

 **Charmeuse Linn, 18**

 _training academy, district one_

 _day before reaping, ten am_

The harsh sounds of metal-on-metal and heavy breathing fill the room, alongside the occasional yell or curse. Charmeuse lunges back, raising his sword to his chest to block Diamond's own blade. The two push against each other with all their might, both eager to disarm their opponent and win the spar. But Diamond and Charmeuse have been training partners for years, and know each other's every move. And the same mistake Diamond keeps making, is underestimating Charmeuse's strength. A roar escapes Charmeuse's throat as he throws all his weight in pushing forwards, sending Diamond staggering back with a howl.

He half-heartedly stabs his sword into the ground and leans over it, gasping for breath as Diamond does the same, only he's sprawled on the floor. "Hey Charm," Charmeuse snaps his head up at the sound of Ruby's lazy drawl, "guess who's watching?" She's stood, leaning with her back to the wall, watching Diamonique and Charmeuse train. Next to her, Cashmere grins wickedly.

"Who?" he asks suspiciously.  
"Titanium." Ruby says easily, and Charmeuse feels his entire face flush red.  
"He's stood by the door." Cashmere says with a wink.

Charmeuse is so caught up in how much he's blushing that he doesn't hear Diamond get up, and jumps when he feels the cool tip of a sword touching his neck. "Don't let your guard down because of some crush." he says, and then drops his sword, turning around to Ruby and Cashmere. A low growl rises from his chest. "And you two, stop distracting him. He's going into the arena in what, a week? He needs to stay focused."

Ruby rolls her eyes and Cashmere pulls a face. "You're such a bore, Di." Cashmere complains, and Diamond huffs in annoyance, crossing his arms across his chest.  
"Forgive me if I'd like to see Charmeuse return _alive,_ and not some wooden box." Ruby goes to retort but Charmeuse lets out a low chuckle and places a comforting hand on Diamond's shoulder. "I'm smart, and I'm strong. I am going to be _fine._ " Diamond turns to look his training partner up and down, and then sneers.

"Yes, but I guess it's not that I was worried about. It's the other careers. You're not too..." he trails off with a wave of his hand, and Charmeuse narrow his eyes.  
"Friendly." Ruby says bluntly, and Charmeuse scowls.  
"Excuse me?!"  
"Hey, hey big guy!" Cashmere swoops in, throwing an arm around Charmeuse's neck, "you are to _us!_ You're a great friend, my man. But to others you're kind of, I wouldn't say _aggressive_ -"  
"I would."  
"Ruby not _one_ person asked for your opinion. Anyway, it's just, _we_ don't say anything because you're like, built like an ox and could easily smash us all up. But some macho, easily angered killing machine from Two, isn't going to be as, uh-"  
"Cowardly as Cashmere."  
"Ruby fuck o _ff!_ All I'm saying is maybe, like with your mentor you could work on your... social skills?"  
"My social skills." Charmeuse repeats in a deadpan voice.  
"Yes! Your social skills!" Cashmere replies enthusiastically, and turns Charmeuse around, walking him to the door (where Titanium no longer stands, Charmeuse notes sadly). Charmeuse hears Diamond sigh before him and Ruby catch up.

"Why are you telling me this _now?_ " he groans, and next to him Ruby snickers.  
"In our defence Lucky Charms, we didn't know you were volunteering until like, a week ago."

Charmeuse sighs but he sees their point. They had all been so caught up in the commotion and excitement of him volunteering that he supposes his 'social skills' weren't on everyone's minds. Charmeuse relaxes as the group walk back to his house, Cashmere and Diamond bickering and Ruby offering her opinions _("that nobody asked for! fuck off, Ruby!")_ in the background to his thoughts.

He is seriously excited for the Games. Charmeuse is skilled both physically and mentally, he has always been top of his classes when it came to both school and training. He thinks he has a very good chance of survival indeed, with both brains and brawn. Suddenly filled with a burst of excitement and energy, Charmeuse whoops loudly and swings his arm around Diamond's neck, ignoring his deep sigh. "I am going to be a motherfucking Victor!" he cries and Cashmere laughs loudly.

"Yeah you are!"

/

Charmeuse volunteers loudly and clearly, and saunters casually up to the stage. He shakes hands with the girl and raises his eyebrows in shock when he feels how clammy they are. The way she said "I was going to volunteer anyway." a bit too quickly rings around in his ears and a smirk grows on his face. Oh. _Oh._

The girl, Diamonique, holds his stare with a raised eyebrow, daring him to say something. He drops his own expression in surrender and squeezes her hand before dropping that, too. Cashmere's reminder to work on his social skills still fresh in his mind, he takes a deep breath. He didn't want to upset his District partner before they even left District One. No. He's seen her in the academy so she obviously has _some_ skill, and Charmeuse could work with that.

Inside the Justice Building, his first visitors are his family. His mother wraps her arms around him tightly and makes him promise that he'll come back, and his younger brother begins to talk excitedly about all the wealth they'll get when he come back. In the background, his father just nods at him with a small smile. "We're proud of you, Charmeuse." he murmurs, and Charmeuse feels pride at himself well up in his chest.

His next visitors are the odd trio of his closest friends. Cashmere bursts into the room first, clapping his hands excitedly. Diamond rolls his eyes at the other boy as he sinks into the couch next to his training partner, and Ruby leans against a wall. "This is going to be s _o_ sick!" Cashmere exclaims loudly, and then the four of them are thrown into their usual banter.

When they've left, Charmeuse feels refreshed and happy and ready to take on anything.

* * *

 **Diamonique Gemmin, 17**

Diamonique wills her legs to stop shaking, and only once they stop does she let herself sit down. She takes a shaky breath and then shakes her head. She could do this. She's both strong and smart, and that could give her an advantage... a lot of career tributes are stupid, right? She's good at making up with plans. She'll make one with Charmeuse, pretend she really _is_ the designated volunteer, since he apparently saw straight through her lie.

The door flies open and her mother takes a step forward the same time Diamonique stands up, holding her daughter by the shoulders and searching her eyes. "You're going to be fine." she says, and Diamonique has a feeling it's more to reassure herself than her daughter. She scoffs.  
"Yes mother, I know. I am _fine._ " she grabs her mother's wrists and pulls them off of her shoulders. He mother sniffs a little but nods, trying to smile.  
"I'll tell your father, get him to sponsor you..."

Gloria sighs, obviously bored. "You'll ace it, Diamonique. I don't know why she's freaking out." Diamonique grins at her sassy younger sister and pulls her into a short hug.  
"You take care of her, yeah?" she says in a mocking manner and Gloria snorts loudly.  
"What's your token going to be?"

Diamonique shrugs. "Probably just this." she had forgotten she put it on this morning, but now glances down at the necklace with a smile. The charm is a diamond, her birthstone. Martie gave it to her.

Speaking of, once her family leave, he's her next visitor. Martie's been her boyfriend for a couple of months now, and Diamonique is actually quite touched about how much he cares. "I'm fine!" she promises him after their parting kiss, and Diamonique wonders if she keeps telling people that then maybe she'll start to believe it herself.

* * *

 **authors note**

whew! district 1. i didn't really have much to go on with these 2 but i still love them a whole lot and hope you do too, who do you prefer? who do you think will go further? they're pretty similar in some aspects & i think that's gonna be pretty fun to write about lol. your reviews have been so lovely so far, so thank you for that! i'm glad you're enjoying reading this as much as i am writing it(: i'm on my half term now so there might be some more updates in the next week, we'll see,

-lizzie(:


	9. bloodlust bloodhate

_{chapter seven}_

 _bloodlust bloodhate_

 _[district 10 reapings]_

* * *

 **Tulsi Lais, 18**

 _district 10_

 _day of reaping, eleven am_

There's sound outside her house.

Tulsi snaps her head up and twists around sharply from where she's sat to get a better look at her window, where the sound is coming from. Tulsi's heavy, black curtains for the one window in her house succeed in blocking out sunlight most of the time, but Tulsi must have forgotten to close her window last night _(last night? she's not really too sure, when you spend a majority of your life shrouded in darkness time begins to blur into itself)_ and the beginnings of a winter wind is just strong enough to lift the dense material. It's in that split second when the curtains dance upwards that the weak, late-morning sun rays flitter through the window and spill onto Tulsi's dirty, damp wooden floor. It's gone as fast as it came, the curtains fall back down and the room is submerged in a familiar darkness.

Tulsi strains her ears. Since being kicked out by her parents, she lives in a small, run-down house tucked away in the corners of Ten. It's virtually silent every day, the only people who live here are the sad and dying, and in Tulsi's case - the mad.

But there's anxious chatter coming from outside, and accompanying it there's the maternal sound of soothing, calm voices. Tulsi drops out her shoulders and lets out the breath she didn't know she was holding. It's only Reaping day. She rises slowly, stretching her stiff joints. She tries to remember how long she was set there, cross-legged with her head bent, trying to summon Him. She can't remember, but if the ache in her neck is anything to go by, then it was probably a long time.

All for nothing.

Tulsi stares bitterly down at her offering. There's a large pentagram - she's gotten very good at drawing them over the years - with a candle at each point. In the middle, beneath a scattering of certain herbs, is a rabbit heart. Tulsi glances down at her hands and her scowl morphs into a sick grin when she sees she still has blood on her fingers from digging it out of the carcass - crumbling red-turned-brown that sticks to her skin like glue. But the offering didn't work, that much was clear. She had sat, hunched over and rocking back and forth, chanting and chanting and chanting for seemingly _hours._ And nothing happened. Again.

The grin slides off of Tulsi's face and the scowl slowly crawls back on, and in her anger Tulsi kicks the heart. It flies across the room and hits the rotting wooden wall with a squelch. Her grey eyes trace how it sticks for a second, drops of watery blood dripping off, before falling to the floor with another wet splat. It satisfies something in Tulsi, something that used to hide deep, deep down, smothered by a happy, normal girl. Now, the something has been set free. It digs deep into her bones and swims in her veins, it's sent around her body with every beat of her heart, it nestles itself between her joints.

And she loves it.

She's grinning again, but she doesn't realise. She steps over her offering and makes her way to the front door. She's never made an effort for the Reaping, never understood why people dress up for something they're so afraid of. She's also never understood _why_ people are afraid of the Games. Death means meeting Satan, right? And Tulsi's not afraid of death or pain or blood. She likes it.

She slips in with the crowd, all making their way to the Town Square. Tulsi frowns. She understands she has a special job to do, for Him, and she understands it's secret. She can't speak to anyone about it, therefore she's decided not to speak at all. So she curses her height; she wishes she was small and easy to slip away. It's hard being secretive when you're tall enough to see over the top of everyone's heads. It should register somewhere in Tulsi's mind that wearing blood stained jeans to a Reaping probably doesn't help either, but being logical has never been one of her key traits.

Tulsi reaches the square and when it's her turn to have her blood drawn, she watches with a sick sort of fascination. She thinks of blood and then her mind drifts, to another offering she could do tonight - maybe she needed a bigger heart? She's in District Ten she could easily get a cow's heart, or maybe it was the body part? She could try a brain? Or she could investigate the plants she's been using, perhaps she'd gotten her herbs mixed up.

Cow brain with some of the red berries that grow in a shrub by her front door, Tulsi decides as she makes her way into her section. She's not too sure a brain would work, but she's growing desperate. Is it so much to ask, to meet Him? She thinks not. She's devoted a lot of her time to Him - she doesn't have a family anymore, she has no friends and no job - and hasn't gotten anything in return so far. Still, she can't complain. She loves her special job, even though He hasn't appeared yet to tell her what it is. She just knows that she's needed, and she is very excited.

"Tulsi Lais!"

Tulsi is snapped out of her thoughts by the sound of her own name, sounding foreign in the voice of the escort. Nobody ahs spoken to her in a long, long time. She looks up, startled for a second before realising what's happened. She's been Reaped into the Hunger Games.

Blank-faced, Tulsi makes her way to the stage. She doesn't care about dying, but she thinks it's a bit cruel really. Why send the person you gave a special job to, to somewhere she might die? Although, the more Tulsi thinks about it the more it makes sense - maybe she's being sent to kill everyone else? What if that's her special job? Still, she's not too impressed with being Reaped: once she's on stage there's a sea of eyes staring at her, and she doesn't like it one bit.

Tulsi flips District Ten off with a loud cackle, and the escort quickly moves on.

* * *

 **Randall Masters, 13**

 _district 10_

 _week before the reaping, ten pm_

"Hey! Hey, Randall!"

The band playing in the corner is loud and bad, the guitarist seems to be two beats behind everyone else and the singer is so off key that it makes Randall wince. It's always loud here - the longer the night drags on the louder it gets - but it's even worse tonight. It's the Championships, so the audience is nearly double what it usually is, people are packed in wherever there's space, their thunderous cheering and clapping following every hit, every punch, every kick. So Randall wouldn't have heard Ellie if he had been focused on the match, like nearly everyone else in the room.

But Randall never watches the match.

Instead he had been looking for the girl anyway, to ask her the time, if it was nearly over. "Yeah?" he bellows as she walks over, weaving in and out of the middle aged men either drunk and laughing, or drunk and yelling - either way they all clutch little slips of betting paper to their chests. Ellie finally reaches him, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She asks him something but it gets drowned out as there's a loud groan from the ring, emitting several loud cheers from the spectators. Randall winces and blocks any and all thoughts about the fight out of his mind. Ellie rolls her eyes and lean forwards, her breath hot in his ear and her hair tickling his cheek. "I said," she roars, "you're looking a little squeamish!"

Randall blushes and pulls away. Ellie knows how much he hates fighting; how he feels faint at the sight of blood and trembles whenever anyone tries to threaten him. She thinks it's _hilarious._ The two couldn't be more different if they tried, but Randall supposes that Ellie's the closest thing he has to a friend. Where she's bold and outgoing, he's shy and cowardly. Where she's feisty and funny, he's intelligent and rather lonely. He's a huge target for bullying, Randall feels a lot of the time like he has a sign pointing to him saying 'HIT ME I'LL LET YOU!' And it's pretty much true, Randall has never fought back in his life, ever. He tends to find that if you let them do what they want, they'll get bored and leave. It's worked so far.

"You'd think that the son of a cage fighter would like fighting a bit more." Ellie had said to him one night, after the first time he had thrown up. In his defence, he had just seen a mans teeth be knocked out. Randall though him vomiting was pretty well-justified. Ellie had said he was ridiculous and Randall had been too timid to back himself up, as usual.

But yes, Amias Masters is a cage fighter and if Randall turns his head slightly to the right, he'll find his father in the ring, bloody and bruised - maybe winning, maybe losing - but happy, and in his element. He _loves_ his job, loves the adrenaline and the victory and the fight. Whilst Randall is at home cooking and cleaning, Amias will be right beside him; chatting merrily to his son as he does push-ups on the kitchen floor, or tricep dips using the couch.

Ellie laughs loudly and begins to clap, jolting Randall out of his thoughts. He looks around him and finds most people clapping, and those who aren't are already slinking out of the door, grumbling loudly and chucking their betting slips to the cement floor where they'll get trodden on and beer spilt on and like most things here, never cleaned up. He looks to the ring and finds his father stood proudly, blood running down one side of his face and his nose crooked and out of place, but smiling widely. "He won." Randall murmurs to himself and warm relief floods through his body, because even though Amias loves to fight, Randall can't help but always feel worried for him.

 _If only Ma was around to see him,_ he thinks with a small smile - imagining what his mother's reaction would be seeing her husband fight ( _illegally_ , Randall adds, the cage fighting is an underground affair) for a living. But - there is no Ma, not anymore, not after those Rebels and their riots got her killed. She was just passing through, she didn't do anything _wrong_ and they still gunned her down, they still -

Randall takes a deep breath and locks all thoughts of his mother away in a corner of his mind. Later. Not now, not when he's supposed to be happy. Randall pushes his glasses up his nose and tugs on Ellie's sleeve, making his way down to the ring. They pass several rowdy men on the stairs who all tell Randall he should be 'sssso proud of hisssss father'. The stench of beer doesn't affect Randall much anymore, it comes hand-in-hand with being at the ring. Randall doesn't like coming to the ring, he despises blood and violence and would love to stay at home, but his father likes to get him out of the house, and he has to admit it is nice to see Ellie. Still, he could be reading at home - instead he has to spend his weekends watching people getting knocked out.

"Randy!"

Amias is out of the ring now, patting his forehead dry with a towel. Randall wrinkles his nose at the sight of the wound on his father's temple, but doesn't say anything. Amias is pretty oblivious to Randall's hatred for his career, Randall is sure that he would never bring his son along if he knew he didn't enjoy it, but Randall doesn't want to upset his father, so like most of his life - he keeps his mouth shut.

"Is your nose broken? That's so sick! Can I touch it!" Ellie grins from where she's stood next to him, and Amias laughs. Randall turns to his friend with a horrified expression.  
" _Ellie!_ " he nearly screeches, batting down her hand as it rises to prod at his father's nose. Ellie pulls a face.  
"Oh get over yourself, Randall. It's just a bit of blood. You'll see more on your screens next week." she pokes his face with a laugh and Randall's confused for a second, before he remembers. The Hunger Games. Randall shudders.

He's sure that if he got Reaped, he would be the worst tribute ever.

* * *

 _ **Tusi Lais, 18**_

 _district 10_

 _day of reaping, eleven-thirty am_

Tulsi grins wickedly when she sees her district partner.

His name has already escaped her, but she doesn't care about that. She cares about how loud he'll scream when she stabs him, or how his eyes will glaze over when she beheads him. He'll be so _e_ _asy_ to kill - he's small and scrawny, and his legs are shaking as he makes his way to the stage. Tears spill from his brown eyes, that sit behind thick glasses, and fall down his pale skin.

Oh yes.

Tulsi finds herself trembling too as they go to shake hands, but not from fear like the boy in front of her. No, Tulsi is excited and ready to kill, and she wants nothing more to be in that arena now.

* * *

 **authors note**

oof this was really hard for me to write not too sure why, sorry this sucks:/ also i was looking up about like, pentagrams, and i got on this ~~witches~~ site but it got pretty weird so i just went with my own thing, so my bad if the summoning details are wrong ((although i really hope none of you know any summoning details?)) as per not edited,, hope u enjoy! don't forget to review(:


	10. alone

c _hapter eight}_

 _alone_

 _[district 3 reapings]_

* * *

 **authors note**

trigger warning for prostitution, depression and mentions of suicide/self-harm

* * *

 **Venti Black, 14**

 _'abandoned' warehouse, district three_

 _week before reapings, one am_

Venti is alone.

The cramped room she shares with Magni is empty, the older girl is out with a client but she'll be back soon and Venti curses herself for leaving this for so long. She's been sat for a good hour or two now, her back pressed against the door and her knees tucked under her chin, just staring at the knife that lies on the floor a couple of feet away from her. It's barely visible in the dark but she can picture it, gleaming it's silver smile, taunting her. She could pick it up. _(She wants to pick it up)._ She could end her life. _(She wants to end her life)._

But if she picks up the knife and brings it to her neck, if she applies pressure, if she lets crimson red run down the pale column of her throat - she would be acknowledging it. Acknowledging the ever-growing hollow emptiness inside her, acknowledging that the seams holding her life together are slowly breaking, acknowledging that her life has spiralled into something dark and messy and unfixable. And Venti tries, she tries _so hard,_ to look for the good things in life, to keep her head up. 'Keep your head up.' It's what her mother used to say to her as she cleaned her grazed knees, it's what her father would say when she would get a bad test score, it's what her friends would throw into conversations to cheer her up after a bad day. God. Her friends, her family; Venti misses them so much it makes her heart ache.

"Hey, Venti!"  
 _hello honey  
_ "Aw, why are you so upset?"  
 _what's got a pretty girl like you so sad? and all alone?  
_ "Did something happen?"  
 _have an argument with your parents? they just don't understand do they?  
_ "It's okay, don't worry!"  
 _it's okay, you don't have to be scared of me  
_ "Do you want to come over to mine? My parents won't mind!"  
 _you should come with me, honey, come see my...workplace  
_ "It'll be fun!"  
 _you'll have so much fun with all my friends  
_ "Keep your head up, Venti!"  
 _for fucks sake you brat, keep your head up  
sit like a lady  
no man will want you like that  
cross your ankles  
can't you wear something a bit shorter?  
you need to dye your hair  
i don't care how you feel  
_ _he's my friend and you'll do whatever he damn wants you to do_

 _if you ever try and run away again i will not hesitate to slit your throat. do you hear me?_

Venti reaches out for the knife and stops again when she realises how much her hand is shaking. She goes to try again when she hears someone coming up the stairs. Startled, Venti jumps up and turns to face the door, her expression similar to that of a deer caught in the headlights. Her mouth goes dry and her teeth rake over her bottom lip, panic bubbling in her chest. Magni shouldn't be back for ages, which means...which means...

She slams the heels of her hands into her eyes, hoping that the sudden pain will kill the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks, and takes a few deep breaths, greedily gulping down air in hope that it'll quench the fear snaking around her ribcage. She brings her hands down as the footsteps grow closer, and kicks the knife under her bed. She goes to see how she looks in the grubby mirror they keep in the corner of the room, when she notices something. The footsteps are too light, way too light, and is that...? Yes. Sweet relief floods through Venti and she takes a shaky breath, flopping back onto her bed.

Now her senses aren't clouded by loud, sharp horror and the undertone of dull dread, Venti can hear the unmistakable _clickclickclick_ sound of heels. Their clients are always men, which can only mean Magni's finished early.

Sure enough, there's the sound of a key turning in the door, and light floods into the room and a figure steps in, before the door shuts again. There's the sound of heels hitting a wall, followed by an audible sigh of pleasure. Magni moves around their room as quietly as she can, shedding her barely-there clothes in favour of her pyjama shorts and oversized cotton tee ("Yes Venti, I stole it. Sue me. I got you one too, though!").

"Hey." Venti whispers quietly, and Magni spins around halfway through putting her hair up.  
"You're supposed to be asleep!" she scolds, but her voice is soft and there's no real fire behind her words. She moves towards the two beds and smiles fondly down at the younger girl, before pulling the threadbare covers over her. "Just wait a sec, I'll get you some more blankets." she murmurs, and leaves to rummage around under her bed. The motherly words pierce Venti's heart and make her want to _scream,_ because if she didn't have Magni, Venti is sure she would have broken down long ago. Magni returns and drops two more blankets on top of her, and then bends down and kisses her on the forehead.

Magni climbs into her own bed and Venti lies in hers, staring up at the grooves in the ceiling. They're on the second floor, and beneath them she can hear doors opening and closing, the shrill and fake laughter of young girls, the low and predatory voices of men. The walls in Emic's Warehouse are paper thin, and as well as noises that come from sex Venti spends a lot of her life listening to other girls crying. The warehouse is where Emic runs his 'business', and he puts two girls in every room. The older ones tend to go to house calls however, it's the younger ones, such as Venti, who have to sleep in the same beds that they work in.

"Magni?" Venti whispers into the dark after an hour or so of sleep eluding her.  
"Yeah?" comes the tired reply.  
"Can I just... Can I ask you something?" Venti hears the blankets shift and when she turns her head she can just about make out Magni propped up on her elbows, head turned in Venti's direction. She doesn't get an answer, but continues anyway.

"When you were gone, your client tonight...was that supposed to be my job?"

It's deathly quiet in the room, but in the distance Venti can hear fake moans and Emic yelling at someone. "Go to sleep, Venti." Venti turns away from her friend so she's facing the wall. She hates that Magni does that, takes jobs meant for Venti. She knows Magni's just trying to keep her safe, preserve her innocence, but it's in vain hope. Venti lost her innocence when she was forced to sell her body aged thirteen.

* * *

 _district three_

 _day of reaping, eight am_

Venti feels her skin crawl every time a glance is thrown in her direction.

She knows how out of place she looks, knows how she looks trampy, like a whore. She chokes down a bitter laugh because maybe, that's all she is. Emic had barged into their room earlier this morning, thrown some clothes at the two of them and then stalked right back out again. Venti feels out of place and severely uncomfortable. Reaping day for most people means their smartest clothes; shoes polished and maybe a new dress.

Instead, Venti wears a garish pink crop top and denim shorts. Magni had at least gotten a sunflower-yellow dress, and even if it was a bit short it was still passable. Magni had fretted around Venti, trying to pull down her top and anxiously chewing on her lip. She had tried to swap clothes but the dress hung off of Venti, and her shorts barely made it up Magni's eighteen-year-old legs.

She shuffles in line to get her blood drawn, and once that's done she squeezes Magni's hand goodbye and files into the fourteen year old girls section. Judgemental glances are cast her way but Venti sticks her chin up and stares straight ahead. _The sky is looking very blue today. The birds sound especially sweet. The fresh air is lovely._ She rattles off as many positive things as she can, trying to distract herself - because if she thinks too much she'll probably go down a spiral and end up thinking about killing herself again. She closes her eyes at the memory of last week before filing it away. Not now.

"Good morning District Three! My name is Clementine, and I am your escort!"

Venti takes in her short orange dress and bright orange heels and decides that their escort would probably fit right in at Emic's Warehouse. Venti blocks out most of the Reaping, it's pretty boring, but tunes in again when Clementine begins to babble about picking the female tribute. It's Magni's last year eligible for the Reaping, and Venti doesn't know what she'd do if the older girl got Reaped.

"And your female tribute, District Three, is...Venti Black!"

Venti stares blankly up at the chirpy escort on stage before closing her eyes and exhaling the breath she didn't know she was holding. Of course. Of _course._ There's a strangled yell that comes from the eighteen year old section but Venti just plods her way slowly up to the stage, suddenly exhausted and ready to give up. She doesn't want to live anymore. What difference does it make, if it's by her own hand or someone else's? Some other teenager?

No, Venti doesn't care about being Reaped. The gnawing, growing nothingness that's settled where her heart once was makes it hard to care about anything these days.

* * *

 **Calvin Whirr, 14**

 _the school, district three_

 _week before reaping, 1 pm_

Calvin sits alone.

He's pretty used to it by now, Calvin has sat alone at lunch every day for as long as he can remember. He keeps his head down and pushes the brown, unidentifiable mush on his plate around with a fork, trying not to draw attention to himself. The cafeteria is full of people; large and loud friendship groups all squashed around tables, smaller groups sat with their folders spread across the table tops, barely making room for their trays of food, and the groups engaging in heated debates over maths or whatever, Calvin doesn't really know.

He's never understood maths.

He's never understood maths, never understood coding, never understood science, never really been s _mart._ And that is why he sits alone at lunch because every other single student in his school excels at all three of those things, and in turn Calvin has been shunned. When he is paired up with people they flash him strained smiles but he sees the faces they make at their friends when they think he's not looking, he sees the way they roll their eyes and point finger guns at their own temples.

He's treated like an idiot, and he hates it. Nobody's interested in him, nobody wants to be his friend. They're scared he'll taint their reputation or whatever, because who are you if you aren't smart in Three? What could you possibly offer? So he's ignored and left out and overlooked - Calvin isn't traditionally smart so he's seen as useless, discarded without a second look.

He wishes more people would give him a second look, because if they did they would see he's not useless. Calvin is an engineer. He's a fixer and a builder and a take-it-apart-just-to-put-it-back-together-er. He could not, for the life of him, tell you how it works or what it does, but Calvin has a logical mind; he likes puzzles and following a pattern. He'll memorise how to build something, and then repeat it on his own calculator or computer or whatever it is this week. Truly, he could have made an excellent duo with someone smart, they could code and he could build.

But nobody wants to partner up with Calvin Whirr, Your Local Idiot, so instead Calvin sits alone.

He makes it through his last lesson of the day, maths, with his attention elsewhere and his eyes constantly flickering up the clock on the wall. The teacher who stands at the front of the room has a low, dull voice but enthusiastic hands shoot up at every sentence so Calvin doesn't get picked on, something he's eternally grateful for. He wishes he had tech right now, the only subject where he could easily beat his peers. Instead, his open but ignored textbook is filled with statistics and figures and a bunch of letters that Calvin can't seem to understand.

He can't wait to leave, because as well as everything being mind-numbingly dull, he wants to see her. Calvin only knows Venti's name, he doesn't know why she doesn't go to school, or why she dresses how she does, or why she always looks like she's about to either scream or sob - he only knows that most Fridays she and an older girl go to the market place.

Calvin wants desperately to make friends. He wants to be able to be himself around people his age, he wants to be friendly and bubbly and loud, like he is at home with his parents. He doesn't know much about Venti, but he knows she has a soft smile and a laugh like a bird song, and he doesn't think she'll judge him. But it's the nagging 'what if?' in the back if Calvin's mind that stops him from befriending the girl, and it's that he listens to.

* * *

 _district three_

 _day of reaping, eight am_

Out of the corner of his eye, Calvin could see his mother looking at him. He turns his head, eyebrows raised but a huge grin on his face. "Sorry! Sorry!" his mother laughs, "you just look so handsome!" Calvin feels a blush creep up his cheeks and ducks his head. From the other side of him, his father ruffles his brown hair.

"A tux is a man's best friend, Calvin." he says it solemnly but there's a glint in his eye and Calvin can't help but giggle a little. He felt sort of ridiculous in his tuxedo, but it was a present from his parents and they meant well, so he wore it with as much pride as he could muster - which, admittedly, wasn't much. Most of the time, Calvin tries not to stick out. But he's been cursed with dark brown hair and bright green eyes, paired with naturally ghostly-pale skin. Really, he can look a bit startling, his colours all contrast very sharply.

He waves his parents goodbye after getting his blood drawn, and stands with his group. Their new escort, Clementine, introduces herself enthusiastically, and in return is met with a sombre silence. She plays the video, and Reaps the female - and Calvin feels like his breath has been knocked out of him.

Venti trudges up to the stage and Calvin feels a sort of desperation stinging in the palms of his hands, the desperation to reach out, to grab her and pull her back, out of harm. He feels missed opportunities and could-have-been's slip through his fingers, falling right down to the concrete floor and shattering on impact. Calvin swallows the lump in his throat and tries not to look at her stood on the stage, bags under her eyes and bright pink hair swept over one shoulder.

"Calvin Whirr!"

Calvin stands in horrified disbelief, staring up at Clementine who still wears an optimistic grin. He's not good at maths, no, but Calvin knows his odds are incredibly, incredibly low. They would never be in his favour.

Calvin takes shaky steps up to the stage. All thoughts about Venti are forgotten; he can hear a ringing in his ears and his vision feels slightly hazy, he barely acknowledges shaking her hand or being marched to the Justice Building.

But once the door is thrown open, once his mother staggers in, ripping her hand from her husband's grasp and throwing herself towards Calvin, pulling them both to their knees, he is suddenly and cruelly dragged back down to Earth. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god." he can't really tell if that's him or his mother speaking, but he grips her tight and rocks her back and forth.

"Calvin." his father's voice is pained and hoarse, and when Calvin looks up through bleary eyes he sees him stood, as if he can't really believe this is happening. "Calvin," he repeats, and suddenly it's as if the logical part of his mind is clicked on - because obviously, this is District Three after all. "Calvin, look at me. Listen to me," his father takes a step forward and lunges down, gripping his son by the shoulders and paying no attention to his sobbing wife in between them.

"You can make things. You're good at that."  
"But-"  
"No, no listen to me. Don't pay attention to weapons, focus on what you can make. Technology, things that you're surrounded with every day."  
"I-"  
"Calvin, there will be wires underneath the pressure plates. It's been done before, make a bomb. Or, or, if you show you're good at using them then maybe they'll put some in the cornucopia."

Calvin nods, because he doesn't know what else to do. Bombs? "Use your head, Calvin, focus on your intelligence. And come home to us, son." Calvin doesn't have the heart to tell him that he's bottom of nearly all of his classes, what intelligence? He's going into the Hunger Games, the only advantage District Three ever has is being smart, and Calvin doesn't even have that.

* * *

 **authors note**

yay district 3! hope you like them, tell me what you think!

i wrote half of this at like 11pm and the other half at like 3am so this is probably riddled with errors oops, my bad.


	11. against the rules

_chapter nine}_

 _against the rules_

 _[district 8 reapings]_

* * *

 **Amie Nen, 18**

 _district 8_

 _week before Reaping, ten pm_

"Amie Nen, where do you think you're going?"

Next to her, Amie's best friend Taffy lets out a small groan. Amie stifles a giggle at her friend's reaction and slowly turns around, coming face-to-face with her parents. Amie inwardly curses, they got so _close,_ they're right by the front door. "Hello, mother." Amie says as pleasantly as she can, but all it does is deepen the furrow between her mother's brows.

She looks her daughter up and down, taking in the floaty, white skirt and the lacy, blue top. Amie watches her eyes flit to Taffy, who wears a tight, short dress. Chiffon Nen shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them again, her steely grey eyes are glaring directly at Amie. "I will not ask again, Amie." like most things about her mother, Chiffon's voice is cold and stern. Amie sighs.

"It's just a party, mum- mother. It's because it's our last... uh, eligible Reaping."  
"It's a cause for celebration!" Taffy contributes, rather unhelpfully.  
"You're sneaking out." Amie's father, Tex, sneers.

Amie doesn't dislike very many people. She tries to see the good in everyone, she understands that everyone is dealing with things and tries to be as kind as possible. She always lends a helping hand, always has a shoulder to lean or cry on. Amie takes pride in that nearly everyone she meets would say that Amie is a happy, nice person. She's caring and patient.

But there is one person that Amie just can't _stand,_ and that is her father - Tex Nen.

Chiffon married Tex for his money, pure and simple. Amie is sure that her parents would disown her in a second if it wouldn't tarnish their reputation, some days she doesn't think they even like each _other_ , but apparently they bond over their disgust of their daughter's lifestyle. And by that, Amie means that she lives a pretty normal life and to her parents, that is disgusting and barbaric. 'Barbaric' is a word that her parents throw around a lot, whenever someone homeless walks past or Amie calls out a greeting to someone lower class they shudder and pull their daughter away. If it's not the finest china or high-end, then it's 'just barbaric!'

Amie's pretty disappointed with herself in that she used to be the same. She was rude and snobbish and looked down on those not as well-off she was, but only because it was all she had known. And then she began to talk to the other kids in her class - Amie wouldn't have ever become friends with Taffy and changed her ways if they weren't assigned partners in a school project. And Taffy is _hilarious,_ Amie became very fast friends with her. After that? Amie began to see everyone as human, she began to see their personalities and their struggles and their qualities - not just whether or not they're upper or lower class.

And her parents _hate_ it _._

"I don't think it counts as sneaking out if you've caught us." Amie points out, and her father shoots a venomous glare in her direction.  
"Well...this was fun. We're off. Bye!" Taffy loops her arm through Amie's and throws the door open, and the two run out into the night, giggling all the way.  
"I don't even know what eligible means!" Amie wheezes, and Taffy chokes on her laughter, tears beginning to stream down her face. She doesn't miss her father's angry yell, or the way the door slams shut - but Amie couldn't care less.

"God, they're so...they're so _caught up_ in everything, you know?" Amie sighs once the two are away from the house, their arms still linked and their laughter dying down.  
"Yeah, I get what you mean." Taffy agrees, and Amie's glad. The girls have always been similar, and can agree on most things.  
"It's just - they need to live a little!" She throws her free arm out in a dramatic gesture, and Taffy laughs loudly.  
"Whoop!" she cheers, and Amie throws her head back and lets out an even louder 'whoop!'.

"Hiya Amie!" someone calls, and Amie cranes her neck around to wave, a grin on her face. She can't see who it is in the dark, but it doesn't matter. Amie's friends with pretty much everyone. "Lets get wasted." Taffy announces as the house comes into view, and Amie nods enthusiastically. Perhaps it isn't logical, with a school day tomorrow, but Amie's never been logical. She'll deal with that when she comes to it.

Right now, she just wants to have fun.

* * *

 _day of reaping, nine am_

"What, in the ever-loving fuck, are you wearing?"

Amie can't even make a comeback at her friend; she's too bust staring - mortified - at her reflection in Taffy's mirror. She wears a blue, silk dress that drops to her knees. It's pretty simple but it looks lovely - if Amie was eight years old and the most pretentious person on the planet.

"And when did you get into my house?"

Amie finally drags her attention away from the mirror, towards where her best friend lies in bed, propping herself up on her elbows. Amie flashes her a cheeky grin and moves towards Taffy's wardrobe, picking out a dress at random and flinging it at her best friend. "Your mum let me in when you were still asleep. Didn't want to go to the Reaping with my parents." she pulls a face and Taffy nods, pulling the same face.  
"Understandable." she gets out of bed and begins to pull the dress over her underwear, "are we meeting up with Rayon?"

Rayon is Amie's current boyfriend. Amie has had many, many relationships - guys and girls - she's open and free-spirited and doesn't think too deeply about dating; she loves the fun of it but none of her relationships ever really last that long. She'll basically say 'yes' to anyone who asks her out, although Taffy is always yelling at her for that. As the more level-headed friend, Taffy is constantly pulling Amie out of danger or toxic relationships, not that Amie ever really listens.

"Nah, I said I'd meet him afterwards." Taffy nods and opens the door leading downstairs.  
"After you, ma'am."

/

The Town Square is packed with teenagers. Amie stands with Taffy on her right, but she makes conversation with every girl around her - squeezing hands in comfort and complimenting skirts, Amie is in her element. Hope Destinee talks for a bit, doing her usual 'I-can-predict-the-future' routine, and then moves on to the Reaping. "And your female tribute for the 152nd Games is...Amie Nen!"

Amie's startled for a second, and next to her Taffy gasps. But she quickly steps out of her section and strides up to the stage, smiling like usual. The Hunger Games can't be that bad, right? All she has to do is survive a week in an arena, and she'll meet a ton of new people - she's pretty sure she'll be fine. Maybe, it'll even be fun?

* * *

 **Jute Weft, 12**

 _justice building, district 8_

 _five years ago_

 _"Jutie, baby, Jute look at me, come on kiddo come on baby - just look at me, please."_

 _Jute can hear the desperation in his mother's voice, and how frantic her words are, but it doesn't seem to register. It sounds far away, distant, not connected to what's happening now. It's drowned out by the heavy sounds of footsteps as Paige makes her way up to the raised, concrete stage. He's stood quite far away from her but every step she takes sounds like a drum being hit right by his ear. The grey chains around her wrists and the grey jumpsuit she wears are jarring to Jute, who's so used to his older sister wearing bright clothes made from scraps of material she'd scavenge from the factories. Her ashen skin, once sun-kissed and healthy, clings to her protruding bones that never used to be visible._

 _He's staring into nothing, his gaze unfocused and the shapes before him a blur. His mother's voice, now pleading and broken, has faded into a sort of ringing in his ears. Her hands reach out and grab him by the shoulders, twisting him sharply to face her. He blinks his sight back into focus, and meets his mother's eyes. As soon as he does however he wishes he hadn't, because they're so filled with distress and pain that he has to look away again. Jute has always thought of his mother as youthful and beautiful, but now her face is twisted in agony. He's never seen his mother cry before but now tears stream freely down her cheeks, her eyelashes wet and the little make-up she wears smudged across her eyelids._

 _"Don't watch. Don't watch it, Jute, just look at me, look at me baby." he nods at his mother dumbly, but as soon as she encloses him in a tight hug he settles his chin upon her shoulder, his view unobstructed._

 _He's only seven, and Paige is only ten. But his sister loves him, and he loves her, and she's strong. She wouldn't want to die unwatched, everyone shielding their eyes and looking away - because where Jute and the rest of his family feigned innocence Paige stood up for what she believed in until the very end. She can't die for nothing. Her cause, her purpose, isn't something you look away from. He doesn't want to watch his sister get executed, but the way she holds her chin high despite the obvious toll the few weeks she spent in a cell had on her, reminds Jute that they can't run away from this._

 _The Weft family are rebels, Jute has been one all his life._

 _He's only young, he does hardly anything to contribute to the cause - but he's enthusiastic and eager and in his parent's eyes, that's enough. They'd slip way every night, leaving Paige to look after him and the baby, but eventually they brought Paige along. And then the seeds of suspicion were planted, and the questions grew and rumours were sprouted from the lips of people who knew too much. Jute and his family were put on trial last month, and Jute and his parents were ruled innocent. Paige, however, determined, stubborn and fiery Paige, never backed down. And so the Capitol sentenced a ten-year-old to death._

 _So now Jute stands with his family in a roped off square in the middle of the Justice Building, a crowd of bloodthirsty spectators behind him and his sister and a handful of Peacekeepers in front of him. He's stood with his mother, who's currently on her knees clinging to him and weeping, and his father, who stands to the side with the baby on his hip. He hasn't spoken a word._

 _Paige reaches the stage. A Peacekeeper pushes down on her shoulders roughly, seating her on the wooden stall. Jute watches his sister take a deep breath. The two make eye contact, and Paige smiles softly at him. The reality of the situation hits Jute, and suddenly he feels like he can't breathe. Paige taught him how to ride a bike, Paige helped him with his homework, Paige helped him to tidy his room, Paige was-_

 _The sound of gunfire rips through the room. Jute's mother lets out a wail._

 _Paige was dead._

 _Jute watches, his chest tight and his throat dry, as her body slumps off of the stall, her grey jumpsuit stained a dark purple-red. The Justice Building is eerily quiet, the sound of gunfire hanging in the air. Then, the first shuffles and murmurs come from the back as people begin to leave. The mayor quietly begins to talk about loyalty, and what it means to Panem - but there's heavy regret in his eyes. Jute's not stupid, he's seen plenty of whippings take place in the town Square, and sometimes his parents would come home, enraged about a public execution. Those take part out in the open, where anyone can see - but Paige is (was, he corrects himself in a sort of daze) ten, and the mayor is more human than that. More human to leave her corpse out in the street, for anyone to see._

 _Slowly, everyone leaves, until it's just the four remaining members of the Weft family and their dead daughter._

* * *

 _district six_

 _day of reaping, nine am_

When Jute makes his way downstairs - still in a sleepy bubble and trying to cling on to the last, escaping moments of his dream - he's met by a chorus of laughter. He pauses by the kitchen door, before breaking into a smile and charging into the room.

"Jutie!" his mother beams from where she's sat at the kitchen table, alongside his father, and his best friend: Bobbin.  
"Morning Jute!" Bobbin grins, and Jute walks over to slip into the chair opposite him. His mother stands up and picks up the dirty dishes, walking around to kiss Jute on the top of his head as she makes her way to the sink.

Bobbin launches into a story about how annoying his new baby brother is, and Jute spots his father grinning from the corner of his eye. Jute was just the same when Penny was a baby - and to be honest, he still is. His mother returns and places a plate of scrambled eggs and mushrooms in front of him. Jute picked the mushrooms last week - his intelligence and ability to learn fast meant he's excellent at edible plants, and a large chunk of the family's diet comes from roots or berries Jute's picked out.

As Bobbin's story draws to a close, Jute furrows his eyebrows. "What are you doing here?" he goes to say, but he's speaking around a forkful of egg so it comes out more of a 'whuryoudingere?" But Bobbin's been his best friend for many years now, and the two understand each other completely. His smile droops slightly, and taps on the table absently. "Well, I was - you know, it's our first Reaping. Didn't really want to go alone. If, uh, if that's okay."

Jute's mother walks by and squeezes Bobbin on the shoulder reassuringly. Jute nods fiercely. "Duh!" he says, and Bobbin grins.  
"Duh!" he shoots back, the familiar phrase a comfort.

Jute looks back at his plate to see how much food he's got left and ends up getting distracted by the white, wooden table. His mother did a great job cleaning it last night, he couldn't even see the bloodstain anymore. The first time Jute witnessed death was after his sister Paige was executed, when he was seven. The year after that, however, he was allowed to sit and watch The Hunger Games with his parents. And then, last year, they got help - from the vice president, Marcus Quintus. That's when the beginnings of actual combat started, and small riots sprouted up throughout the district. Not enough to get notice from the Capitol, but it was a start. When Marcus was executed a few months back, the numbers dropped, but the riots didn't stop.

Because of his parents, Lacey and Rollag Weft, playing a very active part in this attempted Rebellion, Jute has slowly gotten use to the wounded and dying being brought into his house. Due to the Reaping being today, there was another riot yesterday - the biggest that Jute's ever witnessed. He had spent most of the evening slipping in and out of houses, delivering messages and updates to other secret Rebel families, and as a result he's pretty beat.

"Come on you two, Rollag you grab Penny and then let's get going."

* * *

"Good morning District Eight!"

Hope Destinee clasps her pale hands together as she addresses the crowd, her purple eyes skimming over the rows and rows of teenagers. In Jute's opinion, Hope is an idiot. Every year she starts off by saying how 'fate brought us all to this point' and whenever she Reaps a tribute she always nods and says 'just as I predicted'. Still, it's funny and always lightens the mood.

Last years victor was actually from Eight; Seth Spinner sits nervously at the back of the stage, his finger tapping against his knee. He waves when Hope introduces him but other than that stays pretty quiet.

Hope plays a video, talks a while about 'controlling your own destiny' and then moves over to the female glass bowl. "And your female tribute for the 152nd Games is...Amie Nen!"

Normally it takes a long while for the nervous tribute to step out of their section, so Jute is surprised that only after mere seconds an eighteen-year-old girl bounces up to the stage, waving cheerfully once she reaches the top. She beams at Hope and then out to the crowd, and Jute has to say he thinks she seems pretty strong - she looks tall and not starving, which is automatically a bonus that a lot of other tributes won't have.

"Just as I predicted." Hope nods solemnly, before moving onto the males.

"Jute Weft!"

As horrified as he is, Jute can't say he's surprised. The dread that had been sitting in his stomach feels like it's crawling up the back of his throat, and Jute swallows back the bitter bile quickly. He can't cry on camera. He's known there would be this risk, that they were probably onto him, but at the same time - he's only _twelve._ He doesn't want to die. It was rigged, they wouldn't let him win anyway, right? He's already dead.

He doesn't want to die.

* * *

 **Amie Nen, 18**

Her first visitors are her parents.

They both stand with their arms crossed, glaring down at her as if she did something wrong. "Well," her father sneers, "maybe if you come back you'll be a lot more grateful for what you have." Amie raises her eyebrows and goes to retort but her father spins around on his heel and leaves, slamming the door behind him. She looks at her mother, who stares back at her. "Good luck, Amie." her voice is surprisingly gentle, and it sounds unnatural coming from her mother. Then she's gone, too, and Amie is all alone.

Not for long, however, because a second later the door bursts open and in comes a gaggle of Amie's friends, all of them weeping. Amie sits with ten or so girls clinging to her and cheerily tries her best to reassure them she'll be fine because really, she will be.

After they leave, Rayon comes in. Amie immediately stands up and walks over, walking straight into his open arms. He runs a hand through her hair, tracing the lines in her long, black braids. "You'll be fine," Rayon croaks and Amie nods into his chest.  
"Of course," she whispers, and Rayon laughs through his tears.  
"Always so positive." he leaves with a kiss, leaving Amie a little confused. She'll be _fine._

"Amie Nen you utter idiot!" Taffy strides in, anger on her face.  
"What did I do?" Amie splutters.  
"You've only gone and got yourself Reaped." Taffy sits back onto the sofa and sighs, looking over at her best friend. "You better come back to me."

Amie knows her best friend well, knows she's not too good at dealing with emotions and masks it with anger, so she sinks into the spot next to her and cups her cheek, tunring her head so they're making eye contact. "Taffy, I am literally going to be fine."  
"Promise?"

"Promise."

* * *

 **authors note**

whew district eight! have a lot planned for these 2, hope you like them!

reminder that whilst they won't completely determine how far your tribute goes in the games, reviews will pay a small impact. i just don't want the victor to belong to someone who forgot they even submitted, you know? and its nice to see whos following along(:

-lizzie


	12. an

hello all!  
i just wanted to give you a quick update - im really sorry i havent been updating brilliancy, i am not abandoning it at all but my exams start tomorrow and i have spent the last couple of weeks revising. the next 15 days are going to be really hectic for me so there won't be any updates until my last exam is over. please be patient with me! im halfway through district 11 reapings, then we only have d12 and d5 left until the capitol!

i'll delete this once i publish the d11 reapings(:

thank u for understanding!

-lizzie(:


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